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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23044900">The Time Traveler's Lover</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/elnormo/pseuds/elnormo'>elnormo</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Christmas, Come play (kind of?!), Coming Out, Developing Relationship, Dirty Talk, Docking, Domestic Fluff, Eddie is a hot ball of anxiety, Edgeplay, Eventual Happy Ending, Finger Sucking, First Kiss, Frottage, Hair Kink, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Movie Dates, POV Eddie Kaspbrak, POV Richie Tozier, Phone Sex, Pining, Porn Watching, Richie is a wet mess of feelings, Rimming, Road Trips, Romance, Self-cest, Sharing Clothes, Shower Sex, The Kissing Bridge (IT), Threesome - M/M/M, Time Travel, excessive use of eggs, mix tapes are love letters, spoilers they're gay, there is a lot of teeth brushing and I don't know why, they switch!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 16:06:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>165,789</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23044900</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/elnormo/pseuds/elnormo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Eddie Kaspbrak leaves Derry in the summer of '92 and discovers he has a genetic condition: Chrono-Impairment. He time travels against his will, pulled without warning into his past and future. </p><p>Richie Tozier spends the summer of '92 trying to deal with the loss of his best friend, until he has an unexpected visitor.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eddie Kaspbrak/Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>96</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>126</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The rules and concept for time travel are based on the novel 'The Time Traveler's Wife' by Audrey Niffenegger. </p><p>Any relevant warnings will be included at the end of each chapter.<br/>NB: The novel this fic is based on has a tragic ending. This fic has a happy ending (I promise!) </p><p>Overall timeline spans the summer of 1992 until 2027, mostly following continuity from the IT movie verse.</p><p>~</p><p>'E' rating is for Chapter 4 onwards, this chapter is rated 'Teen and Up'.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wednesday 22nd July 1992 &amp; Wednesday 16th August 1989 (Eddie is 15)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> The first time it happens I’m fifteen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I feel strange for a moment, like no air is passing through my body even though I’m breathing, and when my body settles I’m somewhere else entirely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I try to re-balance myself through an intense wave of nausea. I'm crouched low to the ground on an empty street. I hide myself behind a parked car and project the contents of my stomach away from my feet, vomiting a second time when I realize my clothes didn’t follow me and I’m naked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I double check the street is still empty before closing my eyes and counting to ten. I’m still naked behind the car on eleven.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every time I look down the street it feels like there’s an echo bouncing back at me. Ping, ping, ping on the radar and each time it hits me I’m doused with an ice bucket of fear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was listening to music in my bedroom, a mixtape that I don’t remember making, before I found myself here. The room’s only been mine for two weeks and it still feels wrong and unfamiliar. There’s a box of photos and pictures cut out from magazines that I don’t recognize, so I haven’t put them up. The walls look the same as the inside of my head feels when I think about the town I left. Completely empty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I look up when I hear yelling. A group of kids are tearing out of the unhinged house at the end of the row, all screaming. One of them’s injured, he gets hoisted into the basket of a bike by the taller kids before they peddle away in a flock. I stuff my hand in my mouth when they pass so they can’t hear me hyperventilating. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The whole thing has a peculiar familiar feeling to it, like watching a behind the scenes feature at the end of a VHS tape, where you see how your favourite scene from the movie was filmed from different angles, picture grainy from a low-res camera.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The longer I look at the house the worse the radar gets, until it’s pinging constantly, flatlining like a heart monitor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I need to pace or run, something constructive with my pounding heart rate, but I can’t risk someone seeing me. I feel around for my inhaler, remembering I’m naked, which sends a completely different wave of panic through me.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I curl up on the sidewalk, trying to make myself small. If I’m small and quiet, maybe I’ll be safe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s no air going into my body again, the ground underneath me is no longer hard against my skin. I’m back on my bed, checking all my toes and fingers followed me back. There’s a graze on my hip and my hands are indented with tiny fingernail moons.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stuff the walkman headphones back over my ears, to drown out the sound of my chest heaving, but the tape has stopped, reached the end of the side while I was gone. I flip it, pinching my fingers together to stop my hands shaking to press play. I don’t know why but I fucking hate this Phil Bailey song. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My clothes are on the bed exactly where I was sitting, just not on my body anymore. I pull them on in case my Mom comes upstairs. She doesn’t need to know about this. It’s just another symptom, another badge for her sash, collecting my illnesses like a Scout leader for the sick, a troop of one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I check my hands again. The fingernail marks are so deep they’re still there. Whatever this is, my body thinks it was real even if my mind isn’t so sure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I learn pretty quickly that it doesn’t always happen that way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes, I feel like all the sensation has left my body and I’m numb, only to have everything painfully slam back seconds later. Sometimes it’s seamless, in the time between blinks I’m gone, or my attention wanders and when it comes back I’m focused someplace else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only reliable thing is that I’m never where or when I was seconds before.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Sunday 13th September 1992 (Eddie is 16)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I meet Henry the third time it happens. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s daytime, late morning I think. I’m pretty sure I’m in Manhattan somewhere, which is terrifying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ve stolen a hoodie, jeans and some sneakers from a thrift shop next to the alley I appeared in ten minutes ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m so nervous I can’t see straight and I’m hungry and tired. I was trying to fall asleep in bed before I found myself here. Like the other two times this has happened I have no idea what to do, so I’m stress walking with my head down, when I collide with someone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They grab me by the shoulders as I panic, wheeling my legs off the ground to kick and pivot away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey, I time travel too.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stop to look at the man holding me.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Is that what this is? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I saw you appear in the alley back there, you looked pretty spooked. This happened before?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Three times,’ I whisper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It happens to me a lot. I can help, if you want,’ he says, releasing me to hold his palms up, face calm and open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t know if I can trust him, but I don’t know what else to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My anxiety in the last two months has been crippling. I can’t eat or sleep, the nausea and fear of the first trip following me around like a black cloud. My Mom knows something’s wrong and is blaming it on the move. She almost stopped me going back to school last week. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I gag, almost vomiting just thinking about doing this at school. Disappearing in front of a class or re-appearing naked in the hallway. I’m completely fucked if this happens again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I take the risk and accept his help. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His name is Henry, he’s thirty-seven, lives in Chicago and he buys me a sandwich. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We sit on the grass in a park on the Upper West Side and work out that we’ve both travelled into the past; eleven hours in the same day for me and half a decade for Henry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ve been explaining all the things that have happened so far. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sounds like you have Chrono-Impairment, same as me,' Henry says.  'It won’t officially be a condition for another decade.' </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why am I naked when it happens? I was wearing pajamas before,’ I interrupt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You can’t take anything with you. No clothes, no ID, no money. Do you wear glasses?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, but I have asthma and allergies, I have so many allergies.’ I uproot a handful of grass with my fist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Well, cross your fingers you don’t appear in a hay field or something. There’s a doctor you should look up, David Kendrick from Chicago, look him up in 2005 maybe, he should be able to help you.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Two thousand and fucking five?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I reach for an inhaler I know isn’t there. ‘You mean there’s no medication? You don’t take something to help with this?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, there’s nothing.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘There’s nothing?’ I start to hyperventilate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘There are things you can do to help.' Henry puts his hand on my shoulder, trying to calm me down. 'Breathe, okay Eddie, just breathe.' Henry lists them off on his fingers. ‘Meditating, running, sex, those are the big ones that help me. Do you have a partner?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My entire face scrunches up in embarrassment, I haven’t even been on a date. Henry lowers his voice, reading everything he needs to from my expression. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Masturbating definitely helps and you might get a visit from yourself at some point, which is fun.’ He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I have no idea what that means but it sounds ominous. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You definitely need to start running. We can’t predict where we’re going or when, so you need to be fast, faster than anyone that’s chasing you. Boy, do people love to chase us. Running away is often your best option.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He touches me on the shoulder again with the side of his hand, bestowing speedy good fortune on me like a knight of the realm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I was gonna be on the track team at school, but my Mom would never let me,’ I say, voice shaky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘This is more important than what your Mom wants, fuck your Mom.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We both laugh and I feel a tiny moment of relief that Henry stopped to help me and I didn’t have to figure all of this out on my own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do anything that helps keep grounded in your body,' Henry continues. 'Anything that helps keep you present and avoid anything that makes you feel anxious.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I laugh, harsh and nervous. This is a sick joke. I have more singular anxieties than hair follicles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything, </span>
  <em>
    <span>absolutely everything, </span>
  </em>
  <span>makes me feel anxious. Siting outside in the grass right now makes me anxious, turning up in in a different decade naked makes me feel anxious, someone in a mile radius of me eating fucking nuts makes me feel anxious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My vision tunnels, fear radar whirling to life in the back of my head. The anxiety has gone full circle, shoving me into despair. I don’t know how I’m supposed to live like this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want this, I’m already sick, I-’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henry looks at me, years of pity etched in his face and the words I was speaking fall away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I'm sorry Eddie. You’re not really sick though, just different.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s the last thing I hear before I’m back in my room in the middle of the night. I meant to ask Henry if it’s safe to tell other people about what we do, but I never see him again. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Friday 22nd July 1992 (Richie is 16, Eddie is 44)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie: </b>
  <span>The first time it happens I’m sixteen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m walking to the clearing at the bottom of my garden, which is set down from the house in-between the woods and the lawn, at the bottom of a verge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My parents know under no circumstances to come down here. It’s my space and has been ever since Ben and Mike helped me pull down some logs from the woods, so we had just enough sitting space for seven. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s hidden from view everywhere except my bedroom window, which makes it the perfect sulking spot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s only me and Mike left in Derry now. Eddie left two weeks ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sonia tricked him into telling me they were leaving late afternoon, but they were packed up and gone when I got there at midday. I guess their phone line isn’t set up yet because Eddie hasn’t answered any of my calls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I get all the way to the top of the verge before I see him. A man sat on one of the logs, dick and balls out naked, staring at me with intense dark brown eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fear spikes at the back of my head, creeping forwards slowly, almost like an afterthought and rooting me to the spot. The guy stands up when I don’t move, one hand outstretched to stop me coming closer, the other trying to shield his junk from view. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I look him up and down, trying very hard to be subtle. I know I should probably be scared by whatever the fuck this is, but he’s tight and muscled and completely gorgeous, in a way I hadn’t realized was possible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adrenaline boot kicks me in the face, blood roaring in my ears as I lean forward and do something very stupid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What the fuck are you doing creepo?' I yell, hands on my hips, trying to be tough. 'Where the fuck are you clothes, huh, is it your birthday or something, get out of here.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey Rich,’ the guy says, laughing. He’s relaxed, like this isn’t at all weird for him. ‘It’s Eddie Kaspbrak. I’m time travelling so I look different to the last time you saw me.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Recognition hits me like a rock to the face, blunt and painful. His eyes, the hard slant of his nose, the little curls at the ends of his hair, his toned fucking runners legs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s not funny,’ I say, my feet itching to scramble. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do I look like I’m laughing?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s not fucking funny. I know what you are, you- you clown.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We stare at each other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m not the clown, fucking clown, jesus, I’m not It, Rich. I’m not Pennywise.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His voice is soft as he holds out his arm, showing me the scar from the break in 1989. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can I borrow some clothes and I’ll explain it to you? And some food, time travel makes me hungry.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He does look pretty ridiculous, hunched over and hopping in pain after he steps on a twig. I pull my shirt off and throw it down to him. I'm not risking going back up to the house. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t have any food.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thanks, that’s alright,’ he says, tying the shirt around his waist and sitting down. ‘I’m just gonna launch right into it, you stay up there, don’t interrupt me.' </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I continue to stare at him in confusion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>'You were born March 7th 1976. Your parents' names are Maggie and Wentworth Tozier, Wentworth is your middle name. We met in kindergarten, and you are-’ He pauses, entire face opening up into a grin. ‘My best friend.'</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I blink, breath stuck in my chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When we were thirteen you tried to reset my broken arm after I fell through the floor of the creepy house on Neibolt street, even though I fucking told you not to. I had the word ‘Lover’ written on the cast and you spent the rest of that year singing ‘Easy Lover’ by Phil Bailey whenever you saw me.’ Eddie laughs. ‘Except you changed the words to ‘Eddie Lover’ because you’re an annoying little dick.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You nearly broke my nose when you drop kicked me for singing it at the start of gym class,’ I say.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ignores me and continues. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘The day before I left Derry you gave me a leaving gift. Packet of strawberry gum, your copy of The Amazing Spiderman issue 343, which was my absolute favourite in ninth grade and a mix tape. Spaghetti Mix: Volume Two. You made Volume One the year before for my fifteenth birthday, but this one had a hand drawn cover.’ Eddie stops to giggle, his face creasing up as he remembers. ‘The cover had a plate of spaghetti and meatballs on it, and each of the meatballs-’ Eddie leans over himself chuckling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s not fucking funny,’ I shout, feet still itching. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sorry, I’m not laughing at the mixtape, I love the mixtape, fuck, each of the meatballs had a face, </span>
  <em>
    <span>my face,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and they all had different expressions, but most of them were angry. Angry little Eddie meatballs. You could tell they were me because of the eyebrows.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie stops to laugh again and I want to punch and hug him at the same time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘First song on the mixtape was that fucking Phil Bailey song' he continues. 'And the last was, er- something by Fleetwood Mac-’ Eddie finishes, clicking his fingers, like the song name is about to fall out of his hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No Questions Asked.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes! That’s right. And the end of the song cut off because the tape ran out.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I flush. Eddie wasn’t meant to actually listen to the tape, let alone vividly remember it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s really good to see you Rich,’ he says fondly, elbow on his knee so he can rest his head on his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s no fucking way anyone but Eddie would know about that tape or the mistake I made with the timing. I guarded that tape with my life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I walk over and sit on the other end of the log, leaning in to poke Eddie on the arm. It’s like touching a brick wall of muscle and my stomach flips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Just checking you’re a real boy Pinocchio Spaghetti-o, and for the record it’s called THE Spaghetti Mix, clearly you didn’t listen to it much.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I busted the tape because I listened so much.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can feel my heart in my throat, fucking traitor, trying to betray me when I need it the most by launching itself into Eddie’s lap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a copy of the same tape inside the walkman in my pocket right now. I was coming down here to listen to it and maybe to cry, to try and make myself feel better. But Eddie’s here. I don’t know how but Eddie Spaghetti, my Eddie, Eddie Kaspbrak is here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Cool Eds, it’s no big deal, just a dumb tape-’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He cuts me off before I can get my entire leg in my mouth. ‘Listen, I’m gonna come see you again soon and I need you to do a couple of things for me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘This is gonna happen again?!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Bunch of times actually.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I still don’t get how you’re meant to be time travelling. Where’s your car or your vessel thing? Does everyone do this in the future? Are you here just fucking with me? Eds, you know I’m gonna be doing the same to you wherever the fuck you went in New York. I’ll find you and make you listen to my Phil Bailey impression. I can’t hit all the high notes anymore but I’m gonna bust my best nut trying.’</span>
</p><p><span>‘Shut</span> <span>up you dickhead, jesus.’</span></p><p>
  <span>I stand up, posing my leg and arm like a microphone stand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
  <em>
   'He’s an Eddie Lover, he’ll get a hold on, you better believe it,'</em></span>
  <span>I manage to sing before Eddie slaps his hand over my mouth, pulling me back down to the log.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s just me, it’s something to do with my genes and my brain, they aren’t completely sure yet. I can’t control where I go, but I usually gravitate towards places and people that are important to me.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie prods me in the middle of my forehead and lets go of my mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can’t take anything with me, which is why I’m naked. If you hang around you’ll probably see me disappear, which I’ve heard is pretty cool.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How come you never told me you did this when we were kids?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It didn’t start until I was fifteen, when I moved away.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie pokes me again. ‘So for next time, can you leave me some clothes and something to eat? Just something of yours or your Dad’s you don’t mind getting muddy or lost. Hide them in a box in the woods and I’ll find it. Do you have a paper and pen? I’ll give you the date.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I have an old receipt in my pocket but no pen. ‘Just tell me, I’ll remember. ’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘3rd August 1992, late morning. You should come down here and meet me, if you want to, bring a notepad and pen with you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why do you need food?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I vomit after travelling sometimes. If I have something in my stomach at the time it doesn’t always travel well, makes me hungry. Leave me some water too?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay Spageds, keep your shirt on- my shirt on.’ I stand up, rubbing my fingers over my chin. I’ve been practicing my Sean Connery Bond voice, so I’m not surprised by how good it sounds. ‘Your list of demands will be met, but the cost is yet to be determined. There could be casualties. I don’t think you quite understand what you’re asking of me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thanks Rich, don’t put yourself out or anything,’ Eddie says, rolling his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I watch them circle around his skull like a hawk. It’s only been two weeks but I’ve missed him so much. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Rich, I feel like I’m gonna go soon, it was really good to see you.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie holds out his hand and I take it, warm and soft in my grip. We lock eyes and just like that he’s giving me his undivided attention. The thing I spent my entire childhood desperate to get by any means. By fighting, or yelling, or burning graces with other people, and he’s just giving it to me. I know I’m blushing and it’s so embarrassing, but I can't look away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We shake hands and neither of us pull back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘See ya soon, Trashmouth,’ Eddie says, smiling, and then he’s gone. He just vanishes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My shirt, that was around his waist seconds ago, falls to the ground. It's still warm and tied together around the arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like everything else about Eddie, it's spectacular. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Warnings: vomiting, medical related anxiety</p><p>~</p><p>Henry, who offers Eddie some alarming advice is the OG time traveller from the novel</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>‘We’re still friends in the future?’ Richie asks, unconvinced.  </p><p>‘Yeah, of course,’ I reply. </p><p>‘And the others? I haven’t spoken to Stan in so long.’</p><p>‘Beep beep, Richie.’</p><p>Richie sticks his tongue out in a way I still find deeply infuriating. ‘Bet you tell the others stuff about the future when you visit them,’ he says, leaning back to sulk.</p><p>I laugh, no longer annoyed. That’s smart, he’s fucking smart. Always knew exactly how to worm the reaction out of me he wanted.</p><p>Maybe I can give him this. It’s less about the future and more about the lack of what’s happening now with the others. I want him to know that even though I can’t consciously control where I go, it’s not random. To me, it’s perfectly plain why I’m here. </p><p>‘I don’t visit the others, just you.’</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>'E' rating is for Chapter 4 onwards, this chapter is rated 'Teen and Up'.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Monday 3rd August 1992 (Richie is 16, Eddie is 45)</span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> It’s a beautiful hot day, just like the one I’m coming from in 2021.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m laying motionless in the grass, watching a ladybug meander contently across my arm, wondering how long it’ll take for it to reach my shirt sleeve or fly away. Right now it’s the only thing keeping me from peeling my skull open with my fingers from boredom while I wait for Richie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s left me a ridiculous outfit. Sometimes I’m lucky and he leaves me his Dad’s clothes, but today I’ve landed during the wind-up era so I look like a tidy, muppet version of Richie. There was no note or newspaper in the box, so I’m guessing it’s 1992 and one of the earlier visits for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m wearing mid-thigh length black shorts covered in red, yellow and green ice pops and Richie’s favourite lilac shirt from ninth grade, which is dotted with a hundred tiny vinyl records with goofy cartoon faces. The buttons were stiff when I did up the shirt, like they've never been used before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I actually like the shorts a lot. Enough that it might be worth Richie’s gloating to see if he still has them in the present. Maybe I tell him this afternoon and he already knows, has them waiting in a box for me in the future, a request thirty years in the making. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie of the early 1990’s is constantly changing for me as I boomerang across his late teens. But it must be much worse for him, seeing me as an adult through so many different points in time, without any of the reference points from the future that I have on how these visits work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stay low to the ground when I hear Maggie’s voice, followed by Richie’s. He’s running across the lawn, yelling at her with teenage indignation before he barrels into the clearing and throws me a sandwich. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sorry, I forgot when I was leaving the clothes,’ he says, sitting down at the opposite end of the clearing and shoving his own sandwich into his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a slice of processed cheese on white bread, which is good compared to nothing. Probably what Maggie was shouting about; Richie loose in the kitchen with a bread knife. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You got anything to drink?’ I ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was weighing up my chances of prying open the basement window and sneaking a glass of water before he got here, glad that I didn’t now I know the house isn’t empty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie pulls a juice box out of each pocket and throws me one, which I tilt towards him in a toast, making him laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sorry I was late, tried to swap my shift but everyone was being a dick, I should have just ditched,’ he tells me, in one big rush. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Just come if you’re not busy.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I thought you wanted me to meet you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I do, just meet me when you can,’ I say, thinking I’ll go mad if I have to sit down here again for hours on my own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s wary and about as young as I’ve ever seen him, eyes almost as big as his frames, working overtime to figure me out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What’s the date?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘August 3rd,’ he tells me, not moving a muscle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘1992?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh. Yeah.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This explains the staring. It’s only the second time he’s seen me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What are we meant to do while you’re here?’ Richie asks, dropping his gaze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I dunno, maybe talk about how you should leave me some shoes.’ I wiggle my toes at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oops.’ Richie grins, not looking sorry at all. ‘Why are your feet so banged up?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I consider them, heavily calloused across the soles from decades of fear sprinting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Because I never have shoes when I time travel.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘But you want them when you come here?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes please.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie looks annoyed by the request, like I’ve asked him to reform the Beatles for my next birthday party, rather than give me a pair of shoes he doesn’t wear anymore. Never mind they won’t fit me properly, which he’ll find hilarious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Wanna listen to music?’ Richie suggests. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can you bring your speakers down here?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie starts singing something and frog marching away, doing one of his funny leg dances like he’s come straight out of a Monty Python sketch. He swings back toward me before I can identify the song.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I got a boom box, you know this Spageds.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I do know this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie used to announce his presence at the clubhouse with that thing all the time, arriving late on purpose. Stan would always clock the incoming noise first, wide eyed with fear like one of the kids from Jurassic Park spotting a Velociraptor. I catch myself before I say anything, remembering that movie hasn’t been made yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Bring a notebook and pen back down with you,’ I say, trying not to shout as Richie walks back towards the house. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We listen to The B-52’s and the first half of a grunge mix, which I hate, while I write down and double check all of the dates I’ll visit. Richie’s dancing around like he’s got fleas in his pants, burning off a layer of anxiety about me being here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first few visits are strange for us both. He doesn’t trust me and I’m never sure how to navigate us out of this no-mans land where time has made us strangers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hand the book back when Richie sits down and he flicks back and forth across the three pages I’ve filled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Last one's my eighteenth birthday. What happens after that?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ll tell you closer to the time.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie clicks off the music without looking, focused on me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You don’t wanna tell me because it’s bad. That’s why you’re here, to warn me about something.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, paranoid much? I don’t wanna tell you because it’s not good to know things about your future.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Then why are you here?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘This is- I dunno- Fucking damage control, okay? I can’t help coming here.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fine. Can you write down your address in New York?’ Richie asks, passing the book back. ‘I wrote to you but you haven’t replied, so I must have taken it down wrong.’ He angles his face away from me. ‘I wanted to say goodbye.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I give him a fake address and number, something different to what he already has. I don’t want him to suspect the real reason I don’t reply. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A tear rolls down Richie’s face, hitting the book and smudging my writing, making it looks like the version we have at home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie wipes his face, tucking the book under his arm. He looks okay, and I want to avoid negotiating the minefield of leaving Derry if I can, so I don’t ask him to elaborate on the waterworks. I want to tuck him up, under my limbs and make all of this hurt go away, but I know I can’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Keep that really safe and don’t show it to anyone. You give it back to me in the future,’ I tell him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We’re still friends in the future?’ Richie asks, unconvinced.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, of course.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘And the others? I haven’t spoken to Stan in </span>
  <em>
    <span>so long.'</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Beep beep Richie.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why are you beeping me? I’m just asking about our friends.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I shouldn’t have told you about us being friends.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We’re inching towards each other, faces forward in challenge just like we used to. First one to snap loses the upper hand but gets in the first elbow jab, which we both know is the most lethal. It’s always been a delicate balancing act. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Every time you don’t answer, I’m gonna think the worst.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ha! You think that’s gonna work?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie sticks his tongue out in a way I still find deeply infuriating. ‘Bet you tell the others stuff about the future when you visit them,’ he says, leaning back to sulk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I laugh, no longer annoyed. That’s smart, he’s fucking smart. He always knew exactly how to worm the reaction out of me he wanted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe I can give him this. It’s less about the future and more about the lack of what’s happening now with the others. I want him to know that even though I can’t consciously control where I go, it’s not random. To me, it’s perfectly plain why I’m here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t visit the others, just you.’</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Saturday 12th September 1992 (Richie is 16, Eddie is 43)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> I’m watching the garden from my bedroom window, perched with one knee up on the sill to get the best view. Eddie should be here any minute and I cannot wait to see how he’ll handle the unclipped grenade I’ve left him. He’s gonna yell at me for sure, but it’ll be worth it, just like it always was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s got two options; wear the outfit I’ve left him, or come out of the woods naked as a jaybird, I can’t decide what’s better. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it turns out I’m an idiot and the plan backfires immediately. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie emerges, walking like he’s got a grade A ‘call the nurse, I can’t get out’ wedgie, which is no real surprise given how small the shorts are. Way smaller than they ever were when we were kids. The creamy yellow polo shirt is the same, tight and barely long enough to cover his hips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. I’m going to evaporate in a puff of smoke as soon as I get outside. I go anyway, polaroid camera slung out of view behind my back. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Eddie’s not paying attention when I approach, angry little rant running a mile a minute through his head. I can’t look directly at him without squinting. It's like trying to look into the sun. Legs are </span>
  <em>
    <span>nice.</span>
  </em>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Eddie’s legs are like those ancient greek sculptures you see at art museums on the TV, or the big display books at the library you can only look at through glass. All strong curves and lean angles, tanned like he’s just spent two weeks at Orchard Beach in August. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He clocks me while I’m staring, my brain still tumbling through the seventh stage of lust. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What’s the date?’ He asks, like he’s oblivious to how he looks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘September 12 1992,’ I say quickly, not wanting to give my mouth an opportunity to speak from the horny back corner, which started a circus march back in the bedroom. I need to distract him from the bush fire raging across my face before he calms down and notices. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Eddie’s quicker than me, eyebrows locked and ready to engage. ‘By the way, what the actual fuck am I’m wearing? I almost came out here wearing the box, you little-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I swing the camera out, grinning. ‘Say cheese!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie lunges like a cat, all muscle and grace, knocking me and the camera to the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eds, what the fuck?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You cannot take photos of me, you unglazed donut hole,’ Eddie yells, standing over me like our tenth grade gym teacher, demanding twenty sit ups we both know I can’t finish. ‘Are you out of your mind Richie?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I was gonna take it and give it to you in the future as a joke,' I gripe. 'It’s funny Eds.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You cannot- Ever- Take photos of me,’ Eddie counters, slashing his hand through the air, fuse obliterated, while I sulk in the grass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why the fuck not? We used to dick around like this all the time. I got photos of you all over my room upstairs, what’s the big-’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie doesn’t know about that, </span>
  <em>
    <span>no-one</span>
  </em>
  <span> knows about that. The photos tacked to the wall, hidden behind my dresser where it’s dark and safe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I steamroll ahead, self control slippery like butter; Eddie’s not the only one who can finger point through misplaced rage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘My Eddie would think it’s funny and wanna do it. Fuck you, you’re not him.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t wait for him to reply and he doesn’t follow me when I retreat back to my room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sit on the floor next to my closet. I like to sit here a lot, mostly so I can press my back into the hard ridge of the door frame until it aches. I can also see the corner of one of my favourite photos where it sticks out from the side of the dresser.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My Dad took it on the front lawn last Halloween, just before me and Eddie bolted into the night dressed as Seymour and Orin, the flower shop assistant and dentist from The Little Shop of Horrors. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I looked awesome. Dad lent me one of his old gowns and a bunch of tools that didn’t work anymore, except for the handheld light, which worked perfectly. Eddie had confiscated it three minutes into our walk, when I wouldn’t stop flashing him in the eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dad had shown us how to push out the lenses on an old pair of my glasses so Eddie could have the frames. He looked taller than usual, in slacks and a shirt buttoned all the way up to the neck, which made him squirm and pull at the collar when he first put it on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We’d taken turns gelling each other’s hair into place, making a mess trying to give each other wet willies with sticky hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie had bitched for days about not wanting to carry around a plant with him, but felt he needed to for ‘authenticity’. He’d complained more about the plant than any of the singing I’d done.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The song was so fucking perfect to slide his name into that it became my favourite thing to sing that winter. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Suddenly Eddie, is here to provide me, with sweet understanding, Eddie’s my friend.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I flick the corner of the photo back and forth, singing quietly to calm the static in my head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I thought I’d be playing a prank that Eddie would go batshit for and wanna join in with, like he always used to, but I’ve badly misjudged this. I’m not sure I know who Eddie is anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s still in the clearing when I check, probably thinking up ways he can get the notebook back. He'll have changed his mind about coming back here, too fucking risky. That’s what Stan should’ve called me, Risky Richie, always gotta show off so hard I push people away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I know I have to fix this. I’m not missing a single visit if there’s a chance I’ll find out where Eddie is in New York. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I zone out for a while by the window, looking at nothing, thinking about what I’ll do once I find him. I’ll need enough money to get to New York, get us both out and back here maybe. Eddie can live in the basement, he’s always been good at sneaking around, my parents wouldn’t need to know. That’s if he even wants to leave, he probably has a whole new life by now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s waving at me, red shorts standing out against the grass like a flare. He’s miming that he’s thirsty, hand open to his mouth, head tilted back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I take him some leftover pizza and a glass of water, my head metaphorically between my legs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sorry I keep asking for water, and Rich, I'm really fucking sorry about before. I shouldn’t have been so blunt, I know you were trying to do something fun. I just- I really don’t need any more shit right now.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I watch Eddie eat, too scared to say anything in-case I snap the olive branch he’s just gifted me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We could still take a picture if you wanted,' he says. 'We just have be clever about it.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I raise my eyebrow in a slow motion show of interest and he raises me one right back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘First, I gotta check you understand why I was upset?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I get it. It’s like the Marty McFly deal. If there’s photos of you from 1992 when you’re sixteen and also from- Wait, how old are you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Forty-three.’</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No fucking way. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No fucking way. Forty-three? That’s old!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thanks.’ Eddie flicks a string of congealed cheese at me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You can’t be forty-three dude, that’s my Dad’s age.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie scrunches his nose up like a mouse, grimacing. ‘Fuck, I know. How old do you think I look then? Do not fucking say older than forty-three.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I have no idea how to answer that question. Adults either look cool, old or super old. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thirty?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie smiles, pizza sauce at the corner of his mouth, like another flare. ‘Must be all the running.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you fast?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m fucking Speedy Gonzales,’ he says, voice tipping into an accent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I laugh, almost tipping backwards off the log, until Eddie grabs me by the shirt. I’m delighted that he’s dicking around with me and clearly not angry anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘And all that shit in the movies isn’t how this works, Rich. I don’t get fucking erased by someone changing the future, you can’t even do that. But it doesn’t mean we can just fuck about.' </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod, pretending to understand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>'It’s gonna be really hard to explain who I am if someone sees a photo. Like your parents, and what if you have it in the future and you have to explain to someone how I’m forty-three years old with you in 1992.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I try and process all this information in my head at once but it scrambles my brain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s just best if we’re careful, and fucking ask me first, don’t jump me like that.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can tell Eddie’s not giving me the full story on why he was pissed off, but I let it go. This whole deal is much more complicated than I thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie ends up taking the photo, spending an absolute age getting the angle right and complaining the whole time that he can’t see what he’s doing. I don’t know what he’s talking about, this is how we always take photos. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s mostly of me, but we get the shorts and Eddie’s middle finger in frame. You can’t see his face but it’s unmistakably him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stick it to my bedroom wall behind the mattress, an upgrade from the dresser, visible only when I lie in bed and peel back my pillow. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Tuesday 27th October 1992 (Richie is 16, Eddie is 45)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> I’m sitting opposite Eddie in the grass, studying the look of concentration he’s wearing; eyes dark with thought underneath his creased together eyebrows, one hand resting in a fist over his mouth, just enough to the side that I can see his tongue peeking out, where it’s searching the air for a stroke of inspiration. His nose is coated in freckles, like it always is when he visits me, so I know he’s coming from somewhere warm.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a grass stain on the caramel slacks he’s wearing, rolled up because his legs are a lot shorter than my Dad’s. The navy jumper is new and mine, and he looks a lot better in it than I do. I know he told me to give him old clothes, but I’m planning to take it back to the house with me when he goes, the smell of him hopefully mixed in with the wool. Something I can keep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I suggested the game of chess over an hour ago. I’m pretty good, but Eddie has zero patience for a long strategy game and he’s struggling. I was hoping he’d still be terrible so I’d have an excuse to watch him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both eyebrows are down for the count now, frustration rolling off him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you give up?’ I ask, confident that he will. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah actually, I just can’t be fucked.’ Eddie rolls onto his back, hands over his face in defeat. ‘It’s just like all the crosswords I can never finish.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You do crosswords, old man?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You do them too!’ Eddie says, sitting up with a sheepish smile on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You didn’t mean to tell me that.’ I grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Nope.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tell me some other stuff.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I... don’t think that’s a good idea.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tell me some stuff about time travel, you must have stories. Where’s the coolest place you’ve been?’ I kick Eddie in the leg to make him look at me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, alright then sunshine. Er- I go to LA a lot, that’s cool. I try to keep a low profile mostly, so I go see movies or a comedy show or something if I'm not visiting someone I know.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What’s LA like?’ I ask, excited that I actually persuaded Eddie to tell me something about his life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hot, spread out, there’s dogs everywhere, and the food is good, great actually. I like it a lot, especially if I’m not being chased.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You get chased?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You fucking bet. Show up in the middle of the street or aisle eight of the grocery store with no clothes on and it makes people crazy, especially in LA. Funnily, it’s not as bad in New York. It’s one thing you got going for you Rich, you don’t get mad about that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Is that why you run?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s one of the reasons.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What else do you do?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Break into places if I need somewhere to hide, houses or garages mostly. I’m really good at picking locks.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No way you break into places, that’s illegal!' I kick him again. 'Not nice boy Eddie Kaspbrak.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Shut up,’ he says, pinching my arm, embarrassed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘So you’re like a secret agent, sneaking around people’s houses,’ I say, giggling. ‘Butt out!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, I’m like James fucking Bond but with way worse dress sense.’ Eddie gestures unfairly to his outfit. I think he looks nice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Show me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Is your Mom home?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah,’ I sigh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, I don’t think she’d appreciate me trying to break in. Enough stories about me, you tell me something.’ Eddie pokes me in the knee with his little finger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Like what? Nothing ever happens.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What the fuck have you been doing with yourself then?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ve been practicing guitar, I guess,’ I say, quietly enough that Eddie might not hear. ‘I learnt how to play ‘Day Tripper’, Dad got me a book.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You should bring your guitar down here.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No fucking way, you’ll laugh.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Nuh uh, I won’t. I’ll do the tambourine bit if you still have that bottle cap thing we made.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Might be in the basement,’ I say. I’m unsure if he’s pulling my leg about playing with me. ‘My turn, how long do you disappear for?’ I want to know if it’s longer than Eddie’s stayed with me so far.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sometimes it’s just a few minutes or an hour, one of the longest was nine days.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shuffle forward, tucking my feet inside of Eddie’s, both of our legs bent up like tents, holding the weight of our heads.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What happened?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I was nineteen. It was a couple of weeks after I started college and I disappeared back home. I had to hide in the attic so my Mom wouldn’t see me. I was bored shitless and super hungry all the time, I could only sneak food while she was asleep, but it was better than most of the other times I was at home.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What college do you go to?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can’t tell you that,’ Eddie says, seeing right through my lame attempt to find out where he is in a couple of years. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Couldn’t you just tell your Mom you were back?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I know Eddie’s Mom was a living nightmare for him, but surely that was a better option than going hungry in the attic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, I never told her. I worked so fucking hard to hide it from her.’ Eddie points to change the subject, finger in my face before I can interrupt. ‘What was the last movie you saw?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Reservoir Dogs.’ I point back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Overrated.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I liked the film so I want to argue, but Eddie’s given me a window. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you like coming here?’ I ask, knowing there’s something else I’m really trying to find out. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Do you like seeing me?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I do, it’s my favourite place to visit,’ he says, face opening up into something beautiful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I preen and sulk at the same time. ‘Why don’t you come more often then?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I do! I come heaps, it just hasn't happened for you yet. I wish I could visit more. It’s always nice realizing I’m here and not in some random garden, having to climb a tree because there’s some fucking dog running after me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I smile at the mental image of Eddie swinging up tree branches, limbs flailing without coordination. He used to be terrified of climbing trees in case he fell, especially after he broke his arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Unfortunately, I don’t always end up safe at your house. The worst is going somewhere cold,’ Eddie continues, slapping the side of his sneakers against mine, like Dorothy wishing herself home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I worry about my feet. Make sure you leave me some thick socks and good shoes when it gets colder, yeah?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ll remember.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m crystal clear on the importance of this request from the worry lines drawn up on Eddie’s face. Any thoughts I had of winding him up over winter evaporate. I had no idea this might be dangerous, I thought it would be cool and fun. I really don’t like the idea of Eddie going somewhere where he has to run or hide and goes hungry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Isn’t there a way to stop it?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Not that anyone’s found. Best thing I can do is try and delay it, be active and stay calm.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You are the least calm person I’ve ever met, Eddie!’ I say, almost squealing with delight at the irony.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You don’t fucking think I know that?’ Eddie flops back into the grass defeated again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘The universe took a big old shit on you when you left Derry.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t we all fucking know it,’ Eddie says, low and quiet, talking to himself. He sits back up like a human yoyo. ‘Hey chuckle face, you know what would help me right now?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What, what what?’ I say, worried I’ve forgotten something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You think your Mom has any ice cream?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We share the single bowl of raspberry ripple I bargained hard and fast with my Mom for. She wouldn’t concede ice cream as appropriate for October, until I pointed out that she was the one that bought it in October. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We’re passing the spoon back and forth, Eddie’s sticky fingers tack against mine with every trade, curve of the spoon still warm from his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can’t believe you’re sharing spit with me right now, what if I got lurges,’ I say, lunging forward, miles of zombie arms in his face.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ha! It’s a bit late-’ Eddie stops abruptly, biting down on the spoon and pushing me back. ‘It’s a bit late anyway, we’re nearly done. You look pretty clean for once.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m glad he noticed, I showered especially this morning because he was coming. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That could be your Halloween costume this year, lurge zombie.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod, deciding not to tell him that I’m skipping Halloween this year, for the first time I can remember. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie hands the spoon back and I finish up the bowl. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you need anything else, Eds?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s starting to get dark and I’m thinking about how I can sneak him into the house if he’s gonna stay overnight. He could sleep downstairs in the basement, while I sleep upstairs. I’d wanna stay while he got settled, see which direction he lays down on the couch to sleep, so when I get upstairs I can pretend we’re laying down next to each other. If he sleeps facing the door we’d have our heads at the same end of the bed, like our sleepovers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie never answers. In the time my attention was distracted, he goes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I scoop up his clothes, taking everything back to the box for next time, except the sweater, which I pull on over my own even though it makes me hot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lie on the couch in the basement facing the door, like Eddie might have, hoping that wherever he’s gone back to, he’s safe. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Sunday 15th November 1992 (Richie is 16, Eddie is 44)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I appear in the woods, thankfully close to the clothes box. I pull on socks first, aware of how fragile my feet are on the frozen ground. Good, thoughtful Richie has left me layers. Jeans, t-shirt, sweater, coat, running shoes and a deerstalker with a frog button on one of the ear flaps. I’ve seen the button before, it’s possibly something we won together at the arcade. I don’t stop to check the state of anything else before pulling it on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s half a chocolate bar and a twinkie in the box, and what I’m guessing is today's newspaper, telling me it’s November 1992. I wrack my brain trying to work out what’s already happened for Richie, so I don’t embarrass myself. I eat the chocolate and take the newspaper to wait in the clearing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m midway through the crossword, stuck on a seven letter and steadily shivering when Richie shows up. His nose is flushed pink from the cold and he looks very happy to see me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eduardo, the first and only,' he says, strutting over. 'How the devil is it hanging, you old fuck!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s hanging cold, you young goose. Is anyone home?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie darts a look back towards the house. ‘No?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can we go sit in the basement or something? I’m freeballing a pair of frozen nuts here.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie laughs. ‘Freeballing! Eds, my man, I do nothing but freeball.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sling my arm around his shoulder, pulling him into a sideways hug as we walk towards the house. ‘I know for a fact you don’t stop talking shit!’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie stays under my arm as we sneak in the back door and down to the basement. He’s pink all across his cheeks and neck, and I worry that I’ve just overstepped a line by hugging him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thanks for the newspaper, super helpful,’ I say, lying back on the couch to face him by the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s still got the SNES set up by the TV, next to the collection of VHS tapes we got last summer from the bargain bin at Blockbuster, where Richie now works. Decades later, he can still quote entire scenes from 90’s movies verbatim, from all the months he spent watching the promotional tapes on loop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s staring at me, concentrating hard, like he’s committing something important to memory.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m making hot chocolate,’ he says, after a long moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I smile in acknowledgment that I’d like one too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He brings back half a bag of marshmallows that we take turns throwing into each other's mouths. I keep trying to sneak the deerstalker onto his head when he's not looking, but he’s quick and wrestles it back over my ears every time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m lying on my side, a terrible position for gaming, while Richie sits on the floor, leaning against the couch by my sternum. I’m constantly restricting my movement so I don’t elbow him in the face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I used to ace Super Mario, but Richie’s chewing me out for failing a level or fucking up some fancy move he’s trying to pull. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Dude, how many times, don’t try and jump over that flower, you gotta shoot it then wait, there’s a secret level.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hook Richie’s glasses off his face and put them on. ‘My bad, asshole, guess I couldn’t see properly.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You look so stupid, those are way too big for your tiny weasel face.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How can you tell, these are like looking down Satan’s asshole.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How would you- Even- Know that?’ Richie grinds his teeth as he climbs over me, trying to wrestle the glasses back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No wonder you’re always vomiting your way through fifty different bad accents, the world is so confusing like this.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Shut up!’ Richie jabs his elbow in-between my ribs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I gasp and hand back the glasses. He slides them back on, his elbows on either side of me, half a leg up on the edge of the couch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You good? I was just messing, Rich.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know,’ Richie says, looking away. ‘Were you okay when you left last time?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t answer for a moment, trying to remember. ‘What happened last time?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We played chess, you don’t remember?’ He asks, concern laced through his voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, that hasn’t happened yet. Doesn’t always happen in the same order for me.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s fucked up.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I laugh awkwardly, rubbing my chin. ‘Yeah, I live life backwards sometimes.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s leaning on my chest while we talk. If you held up a mirror to how we lay together when I left him in the present, it would look exactly the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘So... sometimes when you come here, you’ll be younger than the last time I saw you?’ Richie asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know people tell you this all the time, but you’re super smart, Rich. That’s exactly what happens sometimes.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What happened last time for you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Last time I was here, Richie he told me he was gay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We talked, listened to music, you told me all the latest Derry gossip.’ Richie scrunches his face like a paper bag. ‘Just kidding about the last one.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What about the last time you saw future me?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s definitely not for the ears of a sixteen year old. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Beep beep right? You don’t even have to say it.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can feel the tips of my ears burning, like Richie’s face when we came inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you see Bill?’ Richie asks, when I don’t answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Wow, all the questions tonight.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fine, I have homework to do. Are you sticking around?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shrug, jostling him back onto the floor.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I guess, hard to tell.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie comes back and sits in the same position as before, narrating his math assignment to me. We volley equation tactics back and forth, but I’m not sure why we bother, Richie always has the best ideas. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s chewing the end of his pencil when he gets to the last question. It looks like he’s concentrating, but really he’s thinking up inventive ways to sneak his hand behind himself to pinch me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leans back, showing off his shit eating grin after he gets in a good one, right on the sensitive part of my thigh. I ruffle his hair, tilting his head back down, forgetting how sensitive he is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leans into it immediately, eyes sliding closed and letting slip the tiniest noise, before I can withdraw my hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You good?’ I ask, when he doesn’t move. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Uh huh,’ he replies, voice spacey. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My hands have always been cursed with a mind of their own, constantly one step ahead of my brain, running the whole operation. I’ve talked about this with Richie in the present, so I know that we hug and hold hands, and that his favourite memory from being this age is me playing with his hair on the couch. But I was so clear with myself not to instigate anything before Richie did. It was a hard fucking line that I’ve blown through in one afternoon, with all the finesse of a gun in a sword fight. I won’t be able to forgive myself if I’ve pushed things and messed this up for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You wanna go up to bed before your parents come searching for you?’ I ask, careful to keep my tone neutral. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie tilts his head back to look at me upside down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ll see you soon, yeah?’ I continue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You might still be here in the morning though.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s true. See you tomorrow then, hopefully.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie stands up, eyeing me carefully. He crouches back down almost immediately, looping his arms around my neck as best he can at the angle. It’s so quick I don’t get a chance to reciprocate before he’s by the door waving me goodnight. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Thursday 11th March 1993 (Richie is 17, Eddie is 48)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> I’m power walking through town to the Capitol, running late, but for once it’s not my fault. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie wasn’t in the clearing when I got home, but he’d left me a note inside the clothes box.  </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Meet me at the 4.20pm screening of Army of Darkness.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I feel like I’m about to burst as my legs cycle beneath me. I am desperate to see this movie, let alone see it with Eddie. It’s about the best thing I can think of. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s 4.30pm when I get there. Joe’s behind the counter, rolling her eyes at me as I struggle to fish change out of my pocket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘This was left for you,’ she says, handing over a ticket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes, fuck, thank you,’ I shout behind me as I run towards the theatre door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I gravitate towards Eddie before I’ve spotted him, sat in our favourite spot, at the back on the left. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie smiles when I sit down and it feels like we’re sharing a secret. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks cosy, wearing my navy sweater, that’s not been washed since I last wore it and a black beanie pulled down tight over his ears, even though it’s not that cold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey,’ he says, talking over the noise of the adverts and handing me a soda. ‘Happy Birthday, sorry I missed it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How did you know I wanted to see this movie?’ I say, nudging him in excitement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Lucky guess.’ He smirks, telling me it wasn’t a guess at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Please tell me you stole the money for this from one of those fuckos who used to spit on us at school.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, not that exciting. I found some money in your Dad’s slacks and hid it in the box for a special occasion.’ Eddie elbows me, bumping the popcorn in my hand onto the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘This is my birthday present?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If that’s okay?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, this is cool,’ I say, so pleased I’m vibrating. ‘The ooonly thing missing is twizzlers.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ll get you some if we finish the popcorn. Hey, we should see this movie.’ Eddie points with his elbow to the screen. ‘It’s the best.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh my god, a dinosaur movie with the guy from The Fly! I wanna see the Super Mario movie too.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No you don’t,’ Eddie says, flicking popcorn at my scowl. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s bad? Man, maybe I don’t wanna watch movies with you if you’re just gonna spoil them,’ I say, not meaning it, even a little. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Not spoiling, just... nudging you in the right direction. God fucking forbid you obliterate the shred of cultural taste you actually have on the Super Mario movie.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I have taste.’ I say, not really talking about movies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie shushes me when the lights go down, even though I’ve stopped talking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The movie is awesome. It’s bloody and funny, and I like Bruce Campbell a lot. I catch Eddie talking along with the lines a couple of times, and he pretends to slice me up with his arm whenever there’s a chainsaw on screen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lights come up, illuminating Eddie’s profile as he fishes for the last buttery hit at the bottom of the popcorn carton. I watch him and wonder how many times he’s seen this movie before and if any of them were with me.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Thursday 8th April 1993 (Richie is 17)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> I miss Eddie. The last time I saw him we played chicken, running to the edge of the cliff at the Barons to see who could get the closest without falling off or tumbling into the water. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie had skidded to a halt, the closest either of us had gotten so far, foot wobbling, both of us thinking he was about to topple in for a moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’d laughed, screamed to him that he’d lost, as he’d looked back towards me, the adrenaline draining from his face like a bad Star Wars transition as he vanished. His clothes were left in a heap on the dirt, except my sweater, which was lost to the water below. We’d walked to the Baron’s together last month after the movie, the second half of my birthday treat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I haven’t felt like going outside much since then. I can’t hide it anymore, the way I feel and the things I want. I try so fucking hard to mask it, but I know it’s obvious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can’t go anywhere in this town without someone looking at me, right through the middle, and seeing me for exactly what I am. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moment just before the names tumble out hard and loud, or the spitting and pushing starts is the worst. The flinch starts at the back of my nose, radiating outwards like a pulse that seems to absorb rather than deflect the incoming insult. There are corridors at school I just don’t walk down anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wouldn’t be so bad if I had the good parts. If I knew other people like me, or I had someone cute to look at, maybe to talk to, without the fear of getting a broken face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not like I’m even guilty of anything. I’m more likely to get handpicked for the next round of Navy seal fighter pilots, code name ‘Trasheyes’ than I am to go on a date or kiss a guy. I’m being punished for dreaming. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s also blatantly clear Eddie’s never writing me back. Whatever's going on with him in New York doesn’t leave any space for me.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Friday 9th April 1993 (Richie is 17, Eddie is 44)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> Eddie’s already in the clearing waiting for me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ve been spying on him for the past twenty minutes, holding out for my face to stop looking so blotchy. Fridays at school are always bad, the last chance saloon to get in a few good jabs before the weekend. I hate that I’m wasting time because I’m ashamed for him to see me like this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I check the bathroom mirror on my way downstairs, I’m still a mess but passable. Maybe Eddie will be in a funk about something that's happening in the future and I’ll get a free pass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first thing he does when I get into the clearing is reach for the water in my hand. I sit down on the log opposite and watch him drain the glass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thanks, still feel a bit sick.' Eddie smiles, the corner of his mouth tilting up. 'How are you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shrug and stare at the half eaten bag of chips next to him. I want to finish them off so I have something to do with my hands and mouth besides fall apart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s turned the collar up on the wool trench coat of my Dad’s I’ve left him. It’s long past the knees when he’s sitting, covered in moth holes and the exact same dark brown as his eyes. The way the collar frames his jaw makes him look especially handsome.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Not good?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shake my head, feeling as nauseous as Eddie looks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyebrows are drawn together in distress, in the exact expression I used to love seeing as a kid, because it meant he was paying attention to me. But I loath it right now, he can see right through me, just like everyone else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can I come sit next to you?’ He asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod again, knowing if I speak it’s game over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie wraps his arm tight around my shoulder when he sits. It’s the first time I’ve felt safe in weeks and I burst.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He strokes my arm while I cry, a solid weight against my side as I try to keep my breathing even. I don’t want to get hiccups and make Eddie feel bad for drinking all the water. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He holds me for a long time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I finally stop, giggling wetly when I realize Eddie’s playing a game on my face, wiping tears off my cheeks with the sleeve of his coat when they tumble down beneath my palms. He’s making robotic beeping noises, counting the tears like he’s blasting ships in Space Invaders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Feel better?’ He asks, cleaning up the worst of the damp from around my eyes when I pull my hands away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t know,’ I say, my voice sounding thick. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It feels like I’ve been slowly gutted with a spoon, deep with no precision. There’s less sadness, but more anxiety about the conversation Eddie might want to have now. His hand is a fixed point on my shoulder, that everything else now revolves around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You wanna talk about what’s going on?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What was happening before you came here?’ I ask, not meeting his eye. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It was mid morning, I’d just finished breakfast after my run and I was talking to the person I live with. They made me laugh and I must have closed my eyes, because when I looked back up I was here.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What did you eat?’ I say, holding the corner of his coat sleeve between my fingers, grateful he’s rolling with the change of subject. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie laughs softly, and I know, like the click of a kaleidoscope coming into focus, that I want to know everything about him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Toast, eggs, coffee, and half an orange.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Did your friend have the other half?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, he did.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We sway together after Eddie bumps me for guessing correctly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What were you gonna do after breakfast?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Go to therapy. You know about that?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I roll my eyes. ‘Yeah, it’s another fake doctor like my Dad.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Not fake. It’s helped me a lot, having someone to talk to. Not saying you have to talk to me if you don’t want to, but it might help. I know I’m not always here when you need me, but I’m here now, for a little bit anyway.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s darting his eyes around on high alert, like he knows exactly what he’s skirting the edges of with this conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you already know why I’m upset?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I am being that obvious?’ Eddie ducks his head, nervously. ‘I’m trying really hard not to fuck this up. I think you’ve told me about this conversation in the future, but even if you haven’t, I know you really well, you’re my best friend and I have your back on anything you want to tell me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s hand is still on my shoulder, a life boat that I want to swim towards. I’m so tired of keeping everything to myself and treading water.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘People say stuff about me.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie watches and waits.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s not true, but everyone believes it. I used to have you guys so it wasn’t so bad, you never used to care, but now I’m on my own.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie nudges me in response and we rock back and forth into each other again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What about Mike though?’ He asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He’s on the farm all the time and I’m not allowed up there anymore. He probably believes all the stuff anyway.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know for a fact Mike doesn’t believe any crap about you,’ Eddie says, his entire demeanor turning fierce for a moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘So you do know Mike?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie looks away, tongue in his cheek, not answering in admission. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Eddie knows Mike, and Eddie knows me, then we must all be friends in the future, maybe the others too. I try to study Eddie’s face, see if he’s sending me a message via morse code when he blinks. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We’re all still friends, sleepovers are every Friday night at Bill’s. Please stop kicking me when we share a sleeping bag, I’m not twelve anymore. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But he’s not. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know what you’re talking about Rich, what people say about you, I don’t want you to repeat it. It’s awful. It’s unbelievably shit you ever had to hear that, doesn’t matter if it's true or not.'</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s not.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sure.' Eddie squeezes my shoulder. 'If it were though, if all of it were true, it would change nothing for me. I’d still be your friend and I’d be so proud of how you handled yourself through all of this. I’m already proud. The person I knew as a kid, and you, in front of me now, you in the future, you’re the fucking best Richie, you’ve always been my favourite person. I’m so lucky to have you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s far away across the clearing, he’s moved somehow while speaking or that’s how it feels. Something big’s opened up between us, and the only way I can get back to him is to move. He’s watching and waiting for me to respond. He’s not going to move, I have to do it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s what Pennywise always used to tell me, the worst thing that could possibly happen, that someone would find out what I am. But I think I can do it, I want to do it, this leap of faith. However much I fear what Pennywise told me, the trust I have with Eddie has always been stronger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s true,’ I say, not sure if Eddie will hear me across the distance.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Time stops and Eddie doesn’t move. Maybe he’ll vanish and I’ll live in this mortified teenage purgatory forever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I like boys,’ I blurt, unable to stop myself now that I’ve jumped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie smiles, right on top of me. I’m orbiting his hand on my shoulder again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s cool Rich, that’s so cool. I’m proud of you.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I didn’t do anything,’ I say, watching his face beam back at me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes you did.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He clocks the tears before I do, wiping them away with his thumb this time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can I hug you?’ He asks, as I collapse against him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I let out all the air I didn’t realize I was holding against Eddie’s neck, his arms coming around me like wings. It hasn’t changed anything, just like he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eds?’ His coat collar is warm and soft against my face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I really, really like boys.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie laughs high and clear, a beacon I want to follow. ‘Yeah, I know!’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I climb out of his arms, planking face down on the ground. It’s freezing but it feels amazing on my face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can’t believe I just said that. I can’t believe you made me say that when you already knew!’ I yell, fire in my voice but no heat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s not my thing to tell you!’ Eddie yells back, like we’re fighting over who gets first dibs on the new Batman comic in 1989, high octane and intimate, a frequency only the two of us could tune into and understand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie brushes the mud and grass off my face and hair when I stand, before pulling me towards him so we can hug again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mouth is close to my ear when he speaks, his voice quiet, even though there’s no-one else around, so I know what he’s about to say is special and just for me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘This is a really important part of who you are Richie, be proud.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I press my face against his cheek, trying to lock this moment under my skin for safe keeping. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ll try.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We hide out in the basement when it gets dark. My Mom’s fussing, which makes it difficult, but I manage to sneak Eddie leftovers after dinner and stow away so we can watch Return of the Jedi.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lets me press my feet under his thighs on the couch, only occasionally pinching my toes when I do voices louder than the TV. I test the water, pleased that he doesn’t flinch when I tell him I think Luke Skywalker is cute.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s still here when I go to bed. I want to sleep in the basement with him, but I get verbally herded upstairs by my parents. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hugs me goodnight before I leave and I fall asleep with the ghost of his hands around my back, imagining us sleeping face to face, two floors apart. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope everyone is doing okay out there xx</p><p>~</p><p>Chapter Warnings: accidental hugging and hair touching of a minor (Richie), instigated by an adult (Eddie), which Eddie acknowledges as crossing a line via internal thinking. </p><p>Author Note (contains spoilers): Richie and Eddie are different ages until the end of Chapter 3 and there is no underage content in this fic. </p><p>There are mentions in this chapter of the platonic ways Richie and Eddie touch, which happens mostly in Chapter 3. This would fall in line with a close Uncle/Nephew or Cousin relationship, based on my personal experience. It's mostly instigated by Richie and discussed verbally multiple times. I was really conscious of this line when writing these chapters. </p><p>Chapter 4, when the rating changes to 'E' takes place in 2016 when Richie and Eddie are the same age.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>‘Am I happy, the last time you saw me in the future?’ Richie asks, hooking his little finger in mine. Just like we used to when we went somewhere crowded and didn’t wanna lose each other; the fair or the hallway at school, right before assembly started. </p><p>Richie sighs when I don’t answer right away, and the depth of sadness he fits into that one tiny gesture ripples through me. I hate seeing him like this. </p><p>‘It’s hard to know for sure, what’s going on in someone else’s head, you know, but you seemed pretty fucking happy to me.’</p><p>Richie sighs again, another little noise, not quite as sad this time.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>'E' rating is for Chapter 4 onwards, this chapter is rated 'Teen and Up'.<br/></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span>Saturday 24th April 1993 (Richie is 17, Eddie is 48)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie: </b>
  <span>I appear half a mile into the woods and have to jog to Richie’s house, tearing my feet half to shreds in the process. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I check the date before dressing, wanting to know where in Richie’s timeline I am. It's been a couple of weeks since he came out to me and this will be the first time he’s seen me since then. I’m predicting he’ll be on edge about my reaction to him, unsure if I meant what I said about nothing changing between us. By the time I leave, I want him a hundred percent certain that I’ve got his back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s left me a real mixed bag in the box. The outfit is nice; a faded Duran Duran t-shirt, a soft brown cardigan, blue jeans with a rip in the left knee and a pair of tidy, black combat boots. The first time I saw the boots I couldn’t figure out if they were Richie’s or Went’s until I put them on. They fit me perfectly, so I knew they couldn’t belong to either of the clown footed Tozier men. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The food he’s left is terrible, something we might have stuffed into Richie’s backpack before biking over to the Barrens on a hot summer day. My stomach feels okay today so I leave the strawberry pop tarts, which he’s toasted but have since gone cold and take the can of cherry coke with me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s also tucked his walkman into the corner of a box, the tape inside is called ‘Back to the Spaghetti Mix’. He’s left me this tape before, always after Spring 1993, but I’ve never seen the cassette box. It’s got another hand drawn cover, a replica of the Back to the Future 2 poster, where I'm Marty McFly with the signature Richie drawn eyebrows. He’s drawn himself as Doc Brown, with a mountain of curly hair and thick, black glasses, but the same wacko facial expression from the poster. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I crouch down next to the box, flimsy headphones over my ears and press play. I know this mix like the back of my hand, so I’m surprised when it starts in the middle of a song. I picture Richie walking down here and crouching next to the box to listen, just like I am. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The significance of the tape appearing today is clear. It’s Richie’s unsubtle teenage way of telling me how he feels. I can see it on his face every time he looks at me. He was trying to tell me my whole life, I just wasn’t ready for him the first time.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie starts fidgeting from his seat when he spots me walking over. He nods towards the headphones around my neck, wanting a verdict. I sit down next to him, feeling the ping of his nerves prickle across the back of my neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I love it,’ I say, holding my arm out in invitation. ‘Thank you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You listened to it already?’ Richie asks, wrapping himself around me in a hug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Just one song.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Then how do you know you like it?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Because you made it for me. It’s for me, right?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie leans back nodding, his face lit up in satisfaction.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Then I love it.’</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Tuesday 29th June 1993 (Richie is 17, Eddie is 47)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> Whenever I see Richie in the summer of 1993 he wants to play twenty questions. He’s trying to strum me like the guitar he keeps upstairs, that he'll never quite learn to master. Still, he ploughs forth with single minded determination, convinced that if he plucks the same string enough times it’ll play the right note. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I usually give him one or two decent answers, but today I stupidly accepted and lost a coin toss, so I’m obligated to answer all the questions Richie can fit into fifteen minutes. He’s taking it very seriously, slinging them at me quicker than I can process. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eddie!’ Richie says, kicking me in the shin as penance for not listening. ‘What’s your favourite band?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s not a band.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Artist then.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hmm, not sure if you’ve heard of them yet.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tell me anyway.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Nah, you’ll laugh,’ I say, genuinely embarrassed. I don’t give a shit what Richie in 2024 thinks, but I feel a weird prickle of fear about seventeen year old Richie judging my questionable music taste. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How can I laugh if I don’t know them?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’ll laugh one day!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That answer is fucking boring, you don’t get to veto the questions.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Coin toss for a veto,’ I say, as Richie flips it. ‘Heads. Ha! Now you’ll never know.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m not telling you my favourite band,’ Richie replies, shuffling his bum in the grass while he mopes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I already know it,’ I say, shaking with laughter at how put out he looks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck you, Eds. Tell me your favourite movie.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You won’t fucking know it!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie stares at me, his entire face a stern line. I learnt the hard way this look means I’m one bad move away from getting tackled off the log with two of his fingers up my nose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay. The movie's called Arrival. It’s a science-fic-’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Never heard of it,’ Richie says, cutting me off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I flick him in the middle of the forehead. ‘It won’t be made for another twenty years you dickhead. I told you this game was stupid.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tell me your favourite movie from 1993. It has to be something I’ve heard of.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck’d if I can remember all the movies from 1993, Rich. What am I fucking IMDB?’</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>‘Huh?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We stare each other out in a standoff that I’m not gonna break first. I wait to see if Richie will latch onto this nugget of information from the future and shake it until it breaks, or if he’ll brush past it and continue grilling me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Whats my favourite movie?’ He asks, after a moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Now or in the future?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Riche rolls his eyes in spectacular fashion, like a fair ride tea cup. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Future, right,’ I laugh. ‘You like this weird black and white movie about two sailors who get stuck on an island together.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie takes what I’ve said and slots it into the picture of his future self he’s forming. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What’s your favourite year?’ He continues.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘To visit or live through?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Both.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s a deep question.' I smile involuntarily as I think. 'Last year was pretty good.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘1992?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, fuck no, 2023. 1993 is my favourite to visit.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Well,’ I say, resting my head on my hand, getting ready to draw this answer out. ‘I get to visit this little fuck nut, I dunno if you know him, but, weirdly enough, like so weird, he’s my favourite- Ever- Person.’ I fling the handfuls of grass I’ve been picking into Richie’s face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He brushes it off, pleased, tucking his legs up so he’s got somewhere to hide his face. He’s buzzing, from the compliment or something else, I’m not sure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What’s your job?’ He asks, from over the top of his knees. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What do you think my job is?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Lawyer!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You answered that quick.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Am I right?’ Richie rocks back on his heels, ready to rocket into the sky with victory.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No!’ I say, pushing him back down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’d be such a good one.’ Richie launches onto his feet anyway. ‘Objection!’ He shouts, finger pointing, eyebrow cocked in an uncanny impression of me. ‘This man is mother fucking guilty!’ He uses his hand as a makeshift gavel and slams it down on my head, as I wrestle him back into the grass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You have a lawyer's haircut,’ he says, once he’s safely behind his knees again.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I have a fucking what now?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s the only thing you bring with you. It’s short, and neat and ready for the cold hand of the law! Do you ask for The Courtroom when you go to the barbers?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m not a lawyer!’ I say, frustrated that my fucking haircut of all things is outing me as a square to a teenager.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What’s my job then?’ Richie asks. ‘My Dad keeps saying I’m gonna become a Dentist if I’m not careful.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That would be ironic, the fucking mouth on you. Your job is way lamer than that. You’re lucky I’m friends with you, it’s that lame.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You just fucking said I was the best. There’s no way my job’s worse than yours. What’s Mike’s job?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay, you’re pushing it now. It’s been fifteen minutes.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s been eight.’ Richie shuffles towards me. ‘Bill’s job?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I want to tell Richie this one so badly, I know he would lose his shit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He writes horror books,’ I say, giggling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fine, don’t tell me then. You lost the bet, you’re meant to be giving me serious answers.' He flicks me hard on the leg. 'How often do we hang out?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh, look at that,' I say, pointing towards the woods. 'It’s a fucking black bear, shitting all over that line you’ve just crossed.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How can I cross the line? You’re telling me fuck all! How often- Do we- Hang- Out?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Come on, Rich.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Please.’ He bum shuffles over and onto the log next to me. ‘You’ve got bugs in your hair.’ He crawls his fingers across my scalp in an obvious wind up, while I try to slap his hands away from me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Get the fuck off my head. You probably put the fucking bugs there.’  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tell me and I’ll get them out for you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie tugs on the hem of my shorts when I don’t reply. He left me those stupid red ones again, so I made him swap his longer black ones with me and now he’s wearing them. He looks ridiculous and I cannot wait to remind him about this when I get home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Please, Eds, you always say we hang out. I just wanna know if it’s the same as when we were kids or one of those dumb once a year things my parents do.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you gonna be able to take it if it’s only once a year? You really wanna know that now?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can take it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You sure?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eds, I can take it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Well…’ I say, pulling a twig out from behind his ear, breaking the tension and making him smile. ‘You don’t need to. It’s all the fucking time.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie tucks his head over my shoulder so we bump cheeks. ‘Eddie, that was mean.’ He brushes our fingers together where they’re dangling beside our legs, not yet tangled. ‘You won’t lie to me, right?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Promise I won’t lie to you. If I can’t tell you something, I’ll just say so.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Am I happy? The last time you saw me?’ Richie asks, hooking his little finger in mine, just like we used to when we went somewhere crowded and didn’t wanna lose each other; the fair or the hallway at school, right before assembly started. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie sighs when I don’t answer right away and the depth of sadness he fits into that one tiny gesture ripples through me. I hate seeing him like this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s hard to know for sure, what’s going on in someone else’s head, you know? But you seemed pretty fucking happy to me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie sighs again, another little noise, not quite as sad this time.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Tuesday 20th July 1993 (Richie is 17, Eddie is 45)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> Eddie’s fallen asleep with a comic book laid over his face. It’s protecting him from the late afternoon sun so I haven’t moved it, even though he won’t get burnt at this time of day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was sleepy when he showed up an hour ago, dropping into the grass after we hugged and swiping an X-men comic out of the pile I’d brought down with me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Waiting for Eddie has become my new measure of time. I used to count down the weeks until the next horror movie came out, or the record store got a new shipment of tapes to rifle through. Now I count down the days or weeks until Eddie’s next visit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every time I see him Eddie is slightly different, but somehow still the same. It’s unlike anything else I’ve known. Sometimes he’s younger and on eggshells around me, the upper hand about how these visits work with me for a change, and other times he’s older and more relaxed, which is the Eddie I prefer. The Eddie that knows I’m gay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s different to when we were kids, I don’t have to worry if he catches me looking at me, or fear that he’ll pull away if I hug him for too long. He knows and he’s not scared of me. I wonder if we still hug in the future, or if he lets me hold his little finger in mine. It doesn’t seem like the kind of things adults do when they’re friends, but maybe things are different with Eddie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I almost read something in Eddie’s face sometimes. A message he’s trying to send me, only I don’t understand the language yet. It’s like looking at the night sky and trying to read the constellations without knowing any of the symbols. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Eddie sticks around we might stay out here long enough to see the stars, each one telling a tiny but important part of the story about the past. Just like each visit from Eddie, a little message from the future that one day I might learn how to read. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Saturday 14th August 1993 (Richie is 17, Eddie is 46)</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I’m on my third play through of the mixtape, using today's newspaper to cover my face from the sun, while I wait for Richie to arrive. It’s a huge gesture for him to part with his walkman, so I’m anticipating he’ll be in a good mood when he gets here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>These songs remind me so much more of the present than they do of 1993. I’ve come back home more than once and found Richie listening to this same playlist of songs. They’re songs we listen to when we’re apart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For all I know Richie’s listening to ‘This Must Be the Place by Talking Heads’ right now in 2023, waiting for me to come back, just like I’m waiting for him to show up in 1993.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Riche walks over the lip of the clearing as I flick the tape over to restart for a fourth time. He’s moving slowly with his head down. Something’s wrong. </span>
</p><p>*</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> I want to lie when Eddie asks why I’ve got a bloody nose, but I’m constantly asking him to be honest with me, so it doesn’t feel like the right thing to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How’d this happen?’ He asks, turning my face side to side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Got beaten up, the usual.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Usual?’ Eddie turns away to swear under his breath, looking back at me angrily, just like he did when I surprised him with the camera. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m sorry.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re not sorry, don’t be sorry.’ He smooths his hands down my arms. ‘This isn’t your fault. Wait, what the fuck is that smell?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I had to hide in a garbage dumpster to get away.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s face drops and it feels like I've ruined this visit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Is anyone home?’ He asks, voice as soft as his hands, which are holding me still. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shake my head and he follows me up to the house. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You shower. I’ll meet you in the basement and we’ll clean up your nose.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> Richie’s nose is patched, fortunately just cut and bruised. He’s told me about the group of kids that shout slurs and chase him at school or in town. It’s the same thing he was upset about last year, that I should have been paying more attention to. He won’t tell me who they are, not that I would leave him to do anything now, but maybe the next time I’m in Derry alone, I’d pay them a visit.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We’re watching old reruns of Beverly Hills 90210, our heads at opposite ends of the couch, legs tangled together like we used to do in the clubhouse hammock. I’ve got Richie’s feet in my hands, holding them still against my chest in an effort to comfort him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m trying to count Richie’s pulse where it’s jumping against my fingers, when there’s a thunderous bang and shouting from the front of the house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie flinches back, his feet bouncing out of my hold to curl in on himself. My vision narrows away from his face to the baseball bat propped against the wall and I move before I can think, seeing red. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Have they been to the house before?’ I ask, keeping my voice level.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No,’ Richie says, very quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t follow me,’ I say, my hand on his chest to stop him moving. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I swing the front door open to two kids both Richie’s age, who clock the bat and start running. I chase them down the street, easily faster and tackle the slowest one to the ground, his chin hitting the pavement with a crack. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wrestle him onto his front, pinning his hands underneath his body to sit on his chest. He tries to wriggle away and kick me, so I press the wide end of the bat against his neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Kick me again and I’ll break both your legs.’ He goes still underneath me as he clocks the look on my face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Name?’ He shakes his head. ‘Whats your fucking name?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pull his wallet out of his pocket one handed and shake it until an ID card drops out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Max Harper, cool. Oh, you live on Witcham street, I know Witcham street. Well Mr fucking Harper, I’m here to tell you to fuck off away from Richie. Don’t look at him, or speak to him, or fucking touch him. Ever. Again. I’ll hear about it and I’ll break every bone in your face. If he gets shit from anyone in Derry again, I’ll come looking for you. You’re his guardian fucking angel from now on.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stand up, breathing hard, as Max curls into a ball just like Richie did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s shaking and protecting his head with his hands, thinking I’m about to go to town on him with the bat. He’s probably dealing with some awful shit, just like Richie, the way this town eats up kids and spits them back out again. Doesn’t mean he can’t be scared of going near Richie again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> Eddie returns and we go back to watching TV. He doesn’t tell me what he did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s sat on the floor between my feet, knees vibrating like they used to when we were kids, a wind up toy whose cog is permanently stuck on crank. I’ve been staring at the back of his neck for the past ten minutes, wanting to touch him and say thank you for whatever he did out there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie rolls his head against my leg, rubbing his nose into my knee over the top of my shorts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Whatever you’re thinking of doing back there, just get on with it,’ he says, leaning back to smile at me so softly it makes my heart jump in my chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I blush, thinking he’s seen my hands, hovering in the air like a marionette above his head. He drops his head down, permission for me to card my fingers through the hair at the back of his head. It’s so soft, just like I knew it would be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie sighs and zones out beneath my hands as I whip his hair up into a frenzy. It used to get like this if we’d been playing in the river and he was too preoccupied to smooth it back down before it dried. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hair is longer than I sometimes see it. Long and shaggy on top, flopping in front of his eyes sometimes but still neat and tidy at the back and sides. He must be due a haircut soon, because there’s a little curl at the nape of his neck that I don’t normally see, which I can twirl around my thumb. I hate getting my hair cut, so I always have one. My Mom calls it my ducks butt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s head drifts up half way through the lottery broadcast, interrupting my plan to curl little bits of his hair around my fingers and make ringlets. They fall out immediately, so I’m not getting very far. I'm worried he’ll rumble me for brushing my fingers over the shell of his ear too many times, now that he’s looked up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you want to swap?’ I ask, overshooting an attempt at sounding casual and coming off like a zombie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m fucking desperate to switch places. If Eddie touched my hair, I think I would die, but it would be worth every second I made it though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My Mom once boasted at her book club about how easy it was to get me to take baths as a kid, because I’d do absolutely any god damn thing she wanted if she played with my hair. Getting my hair washed was the sweetest thing I’d known as a kid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I only know about this story because Stan was home from school that afternoon and overhead them from halfway down the stairs. I swore him to secrecy, so no-one else knows and I’m too embarrassed to ask her to do it anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, if you want to,’ Eddie says, turning to look back at me. He looks just like Ferris Bueller after he sings on the parade float, hair a fucking nightmare. I feel giddy knowing it was me that made him look that way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes, please,’ I reply, already breathless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You wanna sit on the floor?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie slaps my leg and we slide round each other, like a pinball swinging around a course. I shuffle back against his legs and tuck my face into my knees, being careful of my nose and curl my toes against the rug with anticipation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Mother of fuck, you’re high already,’ he says. ‘Alright, here I come.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My mouth falls open against my leg during the first slide of fingers and I try to stay perfectly still so I don’t spook Eddie into pulling away. I don’t know how to communicate that this is where he lives now, he needs to stay exactly where he is forever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You alright down there?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Uh huh,’ I say, hoping he can hear me, not trusting my face to turn it towards him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tell me if you want me to stop.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I almost laugh because that’s never gonna happen. I would stay like this all year if I could. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie scoops all of my hair up into his hands and lets it tumble back out, before running his hands back and forth over my scalp in little circles, over and over, while I float. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We do this sometimes you know,’ he says after a while. Long after I’ve discretely resorted to biting my knee to stop myself whimpering. ‘You and me, when we hang out and watch a movie or something.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘In the future?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie pulls my fringe back from my forehead, tilting me back to look at him. He strokes my eyebrows with his thumb, which is another level of amazing. He’s craning around to see me smile, flicking me one right back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, in the future.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doing this while watching a movie sounds like hair washing levels of heaven. I’m done with this shitty decade, I wanna be in the future with this Eddie right the fuck now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’ll tell me if those guys come back? If anyone tries to touch you again? Please tell me, Richie.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I will.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie smiles, small and soft, and tilts my head back down. I wait for his fingers to touch me again, but they never do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I curl up on the couch, over the clothes Eddie was wearing. I usually feel hollowed out when he leaves, but this time I feel full, liquid and warm on the inside like honey. Honey in my veins, keeping me calm, and honey in my ears, making things quiet.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is what being an adult must feel like. More like the slow burn of candle wax and less like the high octane burn of rocket fuel I usually survive on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lay there for a while, waiting for my skin to stop tingling, Eddie’s words rolling through my head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We do this sometimes, you and me.’</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Friday 3rd September 1993 (Richie is 17, Eddie is 47)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> It’s a warm and dry afternoon, so Eddie and I are indulging in one of our favourite pastimes. We’re lying side by side in the grass with the bugs, listening to music, while I scheme up ways to make him spill gossip about the future.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s like my personal genie, granting answers instead of wishes, except he changes how many questions he’ll tolerate with every visit. I usually get one really good scrap of information out of him, especially if I manage to wind him up enough to forget his filter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s one absolute rule. A hard line he won’t cross, that puts an immediate shutdown to the conversation. I can’t ask about his time in New York as a teenager. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s his seventeenth birthday today. I brought a card and two slices of vanilla cake down to the clearing with me. I made the cake with my Mom last night, the closest I could get to a birthday cake without looking suspicious. Eddie seemed pleased enough, inhaling his slice and a third of mine, brazenly stealing it off my plate before I could finish. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My fingers itch to touch him, the ghost of his hair from last month on my fingertips. I run them back and forth through the grass instead, catching on flowers that I flick onto his chest, his ribcage now a colourful parade float for my unrequited feelings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The walkman headphones are on the ground between us, ears turned outwards so we have one each. I told Eddie my Boombox is broken, so we’d have to lie together like this. I can’t see it, but I’m imagining our hair is mixed together by our ears where we’re almost touching. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I haven’t used up any of today's questions yet. I’m building up to something big I want to ask him. I can’t seem to align one of the things he’s told me and it’s driving me crazy. I don’t understand how I can be both happy and gay in the future, because there’s absolutely nothing about being gay that makes me happy right now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I have some theories. That this all turns out to be a phase I grow out of and that’s why I’m happy. Or I’ve figured out a way to live with it, that doesn’t cleave the middle of my chest open with fear every time I catch the eye of another boy. A tiny little part of me thinks I might have found someone I can love, just like I love Eddie, and that’s why I’m happy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do I know other gay people?’ I ask, when the tape stops at the end of the side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Huh?’ Eddie says, cracking one eye open slowly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘In the future, do I know any other gay people?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah.’ Eddie turns towards me, both eyes open now. ‘You do. Yeah, absolutely. Why? Did you meet someone else in Derry?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No. There’s no one else in Derry like me.’ I pick a flower out of Eddie's hair, trying to distract myself from how vulnerable I feel. ‘Do I tell other people about it, other than you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What do you think?’ He asks, face soft and relaxed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That it probably wouldn’t be smart.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie manages to make his naturally sad eyes even sadder somehow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I think I just tell you,’ I finish. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie stares at me and doesn’t reply. I can’t tell if he’s silent because he doesn’t want to lie to me or because he feels uncomfortable with the topic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do I talk about it a lot?’ I ask. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, sometimes you do.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You must be sick of hearing about it then.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, it’s nice actually. Not nice that you’re unsure about this stuff, but I’m glad you’re talking about it. Stoked as hot shit you trust me enough to bring it up.’ He pushes a strand of hair out of his eyes to look at me properly. ‘Talk about it whenever you want, you’re brave as hell, Rich. I didn’t realize until I was older, so I never got to work through it at this age like you.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie bumps out knees together where we’ve unconsciously curled around each other while talking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m one of the gay people you know, Richie.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I take a moment to roll his words around my mind, like the head of a lollypop that’s come off the stick, sickly sweet and addictive. Then my brain disconnects from my mouth, in a reverse act of self preservation, before I can fully absorb what he’s said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Spoiler,’ I blurt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t care,’ Eddie says, brushing his fingers through the hair by my ear. ‘Don’t want you to feel alone anymore, should have told you ages ago. You’re not alone in Derry, you never were.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I feel like the car washing sponge my Dad makes me stand on before it can go back in the garage, soft and leaking moisture in a sticky puddle on the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck. You’re shaking, Rich. I’m gonna hug you, tell me if that’s not okay, yeah?’ Eddie gently tips me towards him and tucks his head over mine to protect me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Relief floods my body. I had the dumb good luck of meeting the only other boy in Derry who had the same all consuming thing in common as me. And he’s here right now, entrusting me with this gift.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Truth?’ I ask, when I push back to sit cross legged by his hip. I’ve been crying so long there’s a wet impression of my face in Eddie’s t-shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Big truth,’ Eddie replies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We hook little fingers in a pact. Different to the one we made which ruined our palms, but just as important. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘When did you know?’ I ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Not as quickly as you do.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘But when?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can’t answer that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Because you don’t know or because you can’t say.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can’t say.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you have a boyfriend?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I watch the words leave my mouth and rush towards him. I want to stuff them back in my mouth immediately, even though I know he won’t answer. Eddie’s given me a beautiful thing and I can’t let myself enjoy it, for even a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I used to. I have a husband now.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I'm gutted, but know I shouldn’t be. Of course Eddie’s married. He’s perfect. He could be married three times over. The disappointment settles in my stomach like a stone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He's the orange guy?’ I ask. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, that’s him.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What’s he like?’ I ask, from ten foot deep in the hole of self sabotage I’ve dug myself. For the first and only time I want Eddie to call it quits and genuinely tell me to shut up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He’s great,’ Eddie starts, a stupid, dopey look on his face. Normally, I’d be smitten by Eddie looking like this, laid back in the grass, looking like someone hung the moon up early for him, just because he bitched about missing it. But right now, I look at him and seethe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He’s smart and hilarious. I hurt my foot the other day tripping over a fucking wheelie bin in the street he made me laugh so hard. He’s got strong arms though, so he caught me before I fell in the road. Very important husband duty.' Eddie twists his mouth into a satisfied smile. 'He’s pretty stupid most of the time, but romantic and very good to me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He knows you come here?’ I ask, half blind with jealousy, hoping Eddie says no. I want this to be our secret, a little bit of him I get all to myself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, he knows about this, about all of the time travel. It’s hard for him when I’m away, but every time I go back, every single time he’s pleased to see me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, yeah, all that dumb stuff.' I bite the side of my cheek. 'Is he hot?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, actually, he’s really fucking handsome.’ Eddie looks smug, like he’s enjoying the thumb full of salt he just rubbed into my growing wound. Unless he’s decided to be very cruel, he must have no idea how I feel about him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I turn my head away, not wanting to watch Eddie bite his lip while he thinks about the handsome man he married. I bet I’m used to this look from all the annoying best friend third wheeling I must do whenever we hang out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Being gay sucks,’ I say low under my breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Being gay doesn’t suck,’ Eddie replies, laughing. ‘Okay, I take that back. Being gay in 90’s Maine sucks. Being gay in 2023, when you can marry the man you love is mostly alright.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s fucking fine for you, with your stupid handsome husband who makes you eggs and treats you nice. I have to go soon,’ I lie, watching Eddie’s face drop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh. Okay, sure.’ Eddie wraps the headphone wire around my walkman, handing it over when I stand up. ‘You not gonna ask about you? You had me on a roll there.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sit back down, holding the walkman across my chest like a shield. ‘I have someone?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, of course you do. Idiot. You don’t think someone would wanna be with you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No. Maybe.' I duck my head and shrug. 'I guess. Doesn’t it make it weird if we both have boyfriends when we hang out? You said we hang out all the time. Were you lying?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie punches my arm feather light. ‘Wasn’t lying and it’s not weird.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thought of someone getting more of Eddie than me is intolerable. Whenever we were little and Eddie would tell a joke or a story about Bill that pre-dated me, I'd go nuclear inside. I know it’s stupid, but I never got over those first missed years with Eddie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay, Richie.’ Eddie giggles, high and loose, like he’s completely unaware of the meltdown I’m about to have. ‘I know I said I wasn’t gonna tell you things about the future and I’ve royally fucked that up this afternoon, but I’m gonna keep going for a bit, because your face looks like fucking Eeyore and I hate it. So I’m gonna tell you something important. Don’t freak out.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie sits up beside me, his arms wrapped around his legs, head resting on his knees, like I do when he’s being nice to me and I don’t trust my limbs to behave themselves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If I look like Eeyore what does that make you, fucking Pooh Bear?’ I sulk, not looking forward to what he’s about to tell me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hmm, I do like honey,’ Eddie says, in such a perfect impression I nearly scream. It pulls me screeching out of my funk in laughter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can’t believe you missed an opportunity to call me Piglet,’ Eddie smirks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck,’ I growl, genuinely gutted. ‘You look way more like Roo, anyway.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck you. Don’t freak out,’ Eddie repeats.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I face him, trying to be brave, as something clarifies on the edge of my consciousness. There’s something in the pieces of information I’ve gathered from him, something he’s been alluding to this whole time. The reason why he only comes here and not to visit any of the others. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re my husband, Richie. You’re the handsome guy that makes me eggs for breakfast and worries about me when I come here and all the other places I go. You’re the guy that makes me laugh so hard I nearly puke, that catches me when I fall, and listens to me when I’m scared. You’re the person I go back to after all of these visits. It’s why I’m here now. Because you need someone and I’m your person.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie sits patiently, waiting for me to speak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m handsome?’ I blurt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Jesus. Yes.’ Eddie takes a huge breath in through his nose to stay calm. ‘Anything else you want to clarify?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re gay?’ I summarize, voice sounding robotic. ‘And we see each other again when we’re the same age? And we’re boyfriends? And then husbands?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie nods, eyes twinkling at me over his knees. ‘You got it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ve liked you for a long time.’ I say into my knees, peeking back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie pokes me with his little finger and I grab it before he can pull his hand back. The thumping my blood does when we touch doesn’t feel as scary as last time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know, that’s why I wanted to tell you. I can’t reciprocate it now, but I do. Big time.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You don’t like me now?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I love you now. I love you an enormous amount.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You mean h-husband Richie, not me Richie?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No. I love you Richie, right now. But I don’t like you in the same way, if that makes sense.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Because I’m a gross teenager?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, it’s not that. If I had my shit together when I was seventeen I would have been crazy about you. But I’m not seventeen right now.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It does make sense. As much as I fancy the ever-loving shit out of Eddie, he’s been alive for three decades longer than me right now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do we do married stuff?’ I say, blood filling my face with the speed of a launching torpedo, equal parts thrilled and terrified of how Eddie’s going to answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks amused but doesn’t reply, trying to wrestle his finger free from my hold, but I won’t let him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do we kiss?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, Richie, we kiss.’ Eddie sighs. ‘We sure do kiss. Holy shit what a question.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t know!’ I say, shy and overwhelmed. ‘I am okay at it?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s great, all of it. You don’t have to worry about any of that stuff. I’m very happy.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You gotta show me or I won’t know what to do.’ I tilt my chin forward to provoke him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You do fine without any lessons from me.’ Eddie smiles, leaning backwards. ‘Are you okay? Like really? I would understand if you’re not.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I think I’m good,’ I reply, hiding my face in my legs, wanting to scream. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>How could I not be. I’ve spent my entire life dreaming about holding his hand without having to find an excuse first, doing it just because we both wanted to. I’d take a future where I wasn’t Eddie’s husband and only got to see him at a horrible dinner party once a year. I’d marry him this afternoon if he asked me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie waits for me to come out of hiding before taking the walkman out of my hand and diving backwards into the grass, leaving me blinking in the sun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Get back down here. I wanna see if our wedding song is on this playlist,’ he says, voice bright. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I flop down next to him, my life in a spin like the flip of the tape. I loop our little fingers again and it’s the only thing holding me together. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Friday 24th December 1993 (Richie is 17, Eddie is 43)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I appear on my hands and knees in the snow, so nauseous my vision swims. I vomit, trying to project it as far away from my hands as I can without being able to see. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I try to sit up, my arms shaking hard from the cold. Someone is gagging behind me, trying to cover me with something warm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eddie, put your butthole away.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh my god, it’s Richie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I vomit again, making Richie sympathy gag, before I hear him run away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The nausea ebbs and I use the moment of respite to roll onto my back on top of the coat, wrapping it around myself. I have to get out of the cold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I look around, spotting the roof of Richie’s house over the top of the clearing. This is the start of it then, my first visit into the past to see him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie from my present is going to be stoked. He’s started to think these visits never happened and the whole thing was a sick trick played by Pennywise, but that dumb fucking clown wishes it could do what I do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s back, sliding socks onto my feet and trying to tug my legs into a pair of jeans. I roll them up with a hand on his shoulder to steady myself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We sneak into the basement once I can stand, his arm around me for balance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What’s wrong with you?’ He asks, easing me onto the couch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Think I’m just disoriented and cold,’ I say, around my teeth chattering together.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie finds me a blanket that I quietly sit under until I feel warmer. He brings me a glass of water and sits down next to me, resting his head on my shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s bundled up in a red jumper and clashing orange scarf, black beanie pulled down over his ears. His hair is long, curls bursting out underneath the rim of the hat and trailing down along his jaw and neck. His whole face is flushed pink behind the same ginormous glasses, which he’s finally starting growing into. He’s tall but slim still, in the mid way point between gangly limbs and broad shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You scared me,’ Richie says, once I stop shivering. ‘I thought I should be out there when you arrived because of the snow, but I didn’t think you’d start screaming and ralph everywhere.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t remember screaming. ‘This is the first time I’ve been here. Freaked me out I guess.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You were here three days ago. You taught me how to play poker.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘When was I coming from?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I dunno, you sometimes don’t- I mean- You were coming from er- 2040.' Richie grins, tongue peeking out the side of his mouth. 'Yeah, you tell me loads about the future, all the time, it’s the only reason I hang out with you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘So last time you saw me I was sixty-four?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s face jumps into panic mode quicker than an Acme cartoon anvil drop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You fucking turd, I know you’re lying.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If this is your first time here, you don’t know about any of the other visits?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Nope, nothing. Weird, huh?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie pulls away, upset.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You got something you wanna tell me?’ I continue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t wanna ruin anything, no spoilers. I have go do a family thing anyway.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay. Can I stay here?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, no-one comes down here anymore.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie points to a shirt and sweater on the table in front of the TV. ‘You can put those on, if you’re feeling better.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I realize I’m still wrapped in his coat, nothing else on from my waist up. I hand the coat back as I pull on the shirt, doing a double take at the design from upside down on my chest. He’s pulling my fucking leg. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why the fuck does this shirt say ‘I’m not an Elf, I’m just short’, Richie?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugs. The potential joke falling flat between us, as he sulks towards the basement stairs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What’s the date?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘December 24th 1993.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Merry Christmas then.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m Jewish,’ Richie says, closing the basement door and disappearing. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Saturday 25th December 1993</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> It’s the crack of dawn on Christmas morning and I’m wide awake. I’ve pulled my pillow away from the bed, so I can see the photo Eddie took of us last year, the photo that Eddie downstairs knows nothing about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m building up the nerve to go and see if he’s still in the basement. I both love and hate this no-man's land part of our visits, when I go to meet him, not knowing if he’ll be there already or if I’ll have to wait. The crest of anticipation is something I look forward to almost as much as actually seeing him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My parents aren’t up yet, so I don’t need to make an excuse to sneak down to the basement to check. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s asleep on the basement couch, one arm flung out behind him, the other resting on his stomach over the blanket. It strikes me how much calmer he looks when he’s asleep. I’m the opposite of calm, elated that he’s still here. I sit on the floor by his face, wanting to use my finger to clean up the patch of drool that’s making one of his dimples look shiny and wet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I study his face and try to align it with how I remember Eddie looking when he left Derry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I have no idea what seventeen year old Eddie even looks like. Maybe his voice has deepened like mine, or he’s let his hair grow out so it’s long and curly at the back, like it was always threatening to do when we were little. Maybe he told his Mom to go fuck herself and he’s rolling in the grass and running every day. Maybe he still thinks about me sometimes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hope that when I catch up to Eddie, he’ll show me photos from all the years I've missed, so I can fill in all the gaps he’s created by coming here. I think about this older Eddie more than the Eddie that left Derry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m probably a mystery to this Eddie, just like he is to me. He doesn’t know anything we’ve done or talked about, that I like boys or that we hug and play with each other's hair sometimes, that we'll see each other again and get married. He doesn’t know he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s coming from the future so maybe he does know. Maybe this is a running joke we have. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Did Richie figure it out yet? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No, he’s still fucking clueless, you should have seen his face.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s arm moves and it pulls me out of the moment I was having. He blinks one eye open while yawning and catches me staring. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Merry Christmas, Rich,’ he says, laughing and poking my shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You said that before.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know, asshole, you’re Jewish. But I know you celebrate Christmas.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Where’s my present then?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can’t bring anything with me. You know that, right?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, yeah, it’s why you’re always naked. I don’t need the speech.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie yawns again and I give up any pretense of being subtle, watching his arms flex and his neck pull taut as he stretches. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How many times have I visited you so far?’ He questions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘A lot. Maybe fifty times.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Wow, nearly done.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I grit my teeth, thinking about what it means for me when Eddie’s visits stop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He taps me on the forehead. ‘Sorry to interrupt, but I haven’t eaten since I vomited my spleen out yesterday and I’m about ten fucking seconds away from eating your face.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Shit. I left you a sandwich in the box.’ I scramble up, pausing and pointing at Eddie from the stairs to give him my finest Humphrey Bogart. ‘Don’t you move a muscle, sunshine.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I demolish two bowls of cereal and a disgusting cup of coffee before Richie has to leave the basement for a family breakfast. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sneaks me food sporadically and in increasingly inventive ways throughout the day. My favourite is the bowl of trifle that he passes through the hatch window at the back of the basement after dark, under the pretense of taking out the trash. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I spend all day trying to find something in the basement I can give him as a present. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I rummage around as best I can without making noise, and end up with a lined pad of paper and half a packet of coloured pencils. It’s a terrible drawing, but it’ll make Richie laugh if nothing else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s yelling in the kitchen after dinner and I make out the words ‘Zelda’ and ‘unfair’ before he’s swinging open the basement door to thunder down the stairs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie clocks me on the couch and hot foots around in a circle, his arms high in the air.‘You’re still here!’ He whispers across the room, making his mouth big so I can lip read. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shoot him a thumbs up as he flicks on the SNES to give us some noise cover and beelines the drawing on the coffee table. I slap his hand away trying to hide it behind my back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What’s that?’ Richie asks, poking me and trying to wriggle around behind me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s your present. Stop it!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s standing on top of my feet, not content with towering over me normally, trying to reach around and grab the paper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck you, you’ll rip it you gangly fuck. Sit down and I’ll give it to you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie hooks his head over my shoulder and hugs me instead, pulling the drawing gently out of my hands so I can hug him back. He’s warm and relaxed in my arms and I miss him, even though he’s right here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You still can’t draw for shit, Eds.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thanks man.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ve drawn him a wrestling poster. Richie and Eddie vs the World. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other Losers are all down the bottom of the page, cheering us on as we face off against a globe with wonky legs and boxing gloves on the right. We’re together on the left hand side, high kicking and flipping the bird. I can’t really draw people, so you can only tell it’s us from my eyebrows and Richie’s glasses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘This is cool. It’s great,’ Richie says, voice much thicker than the present deserves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I thought he’d be pissing himself laughing, but he’s got colour high on his cheekbones, smile illuminating his face like the string of lights on the Tozier's tree upstairs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘This is us when we’re together,’ I say. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie nods against my shoulder and goes back to staring at the picture. ‘Yeah, I know.’</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Thursday 30th December 1993</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I spend six frustrating and lonely days in Richie’s basement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He yells at me on day three for not warning him this visit was a long one, but I didn’t know either. He’s mad that his family made plans he can’t ditch and I’m mad I have to stay here, bored out of my mind most of the time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ve only had one near miss, when Went came downstairs to find an old photo album and I hid behind the TV for twenty minutes of good natured bumbling, trying not to laugh every time he stubbed his toe.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I think constantly about sneaking out and running, but it always seems counter productive. As much as I’m enjoying seeing Richie, I don’t want to spend longer in the past than I have to. If I’ve also been gone a week in the present, I don’t know what state Richie will be in when I get back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s face lights up every time he peeks into the basement and I’m still here, and I wonder multiple times if I’ve finally broken something and I’m stuck here, growing old decades ahead of him. But I know I have to go back or none of the visits Richie’s lived through so far will happen.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie comes into the basement after work on the sixth day, when it’s late and I’m nearly asleep, sitting down next to my hip on the couch. I can only see a tiny slice of his face from this angle, but he looks heartbroken. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes my hand as he starts to speak. ‘I don’t want you to go.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If it makes it any better I’ll probably be seeing you when I go back.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, you told me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t know how to respond, because that could mean </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything.</span>
  </em>
  <span>Richie and I have never talked about this visit, so I’m flying blind with what he knows. I think about beeping him to change the subject but his face looks serious in a way I’ve never seen it before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks up at the ceiling and lets out a frustrated noise. ‘Are you naked?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Er- No?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulls back the blanket I’m under, looking me up and down. I’m in a pair of his boxers and an ugly t-shirt he gave me this morning, with three Californian Raisins surfing printed on the front. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He starts stripping and I stare at him for half a minute out of my mind with confusion. I place my hand on the small of his back, stopping him from hopping out of his jeans. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What are you trying to do here?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can’t I just have this one thing. I want </span>
  <em>
    <span>one thing.'
  </span></em>

</p><p>
  <span>He sits down on the coffee table in his underwear and t-shirt, jeans around his thighs. His hands are lost in his hair, pushing down and trying to anchor himself to the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m not saying no, just fill me in. I’m fifty steps behind you here.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie looks back up at the ceiling. ‘I wanna sleep down here tonight. With you. Like a sleepover.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Like when we used to share Ben’s big sleeping bag?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah. I just don’t wanna sleep in my jeans. You’re not.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pull back the blanket, trying to roll to my side so Richie can lie next to me, but he’s on me quicker than I can move. He starfishes straight on top of me, as best you can on a narrow couch with ninety mile limbs and tucks his head under my chin with purpose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d be mortified if I said something, but he’s being very transparent about enjoying this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s smiling into my chest, breathing deep like he’s smelling me on every inhale. His hands are clenched into my shirt by my armpits, holding me in place, just like his legs, which he’s wedged between mine so our hips are cradled together. There’s no way in hell we’re sleeping like this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You gotta move Rich, I can’t stay like this.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m comfy,’ Richie replies, his voice muffled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m not. Roll on your side against the back of the couch.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do it or I’ll steal some money from your Dad and go into town.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie leans back to gauge whether he can call my bluff and decides not to risk it. He rolls over, tucking himself up alongside my side. I have to push his leg down where he’s slung it flush over my hips, so it’s creased over my knee instead. He looks up at me as he slides the hand he’s not lying on over my chest and digs it back under my armpit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We never slept in the sleeping bag like this,’ I say, once he’s settled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We did in the hammock though.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hmm, true.’ That thing turned us both into feral monkeys with no sense of boundaries for our limbs. ‘Where should I put my hands?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Touch my hair. Please?’ Richie asks, looping my arm around his shoulder and pushing my hand into his hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We’ve done this before?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes. Please?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I indulge him, separating out the curly bits with my fingers. It must be snowing heavily outside because his hair is damp. He hums, low and soft and closes his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘This okay?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah,’ he says, voice far away and breathless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can feel his heart beating supersonic fast against my chest and I know exactly how he’s feeling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> I feel the polar opposite to Eddie, who's fallen asleep beside me with his hand in my hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I feel wild, like every point of contact is a hot poker of sensation that my brain can’t process quickly enough. This is not like any sleepover we had as kids. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I try to commit all of this to memory, so sure that it won’t happen again until we catch up to each other. I try to sync my heartbeat to Eddie's in an effort to calm myself down, which works after a while. I hope we’ll stay this way when he goes, living in different decades, but our hearts beating in the same rhythm regardless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When I wake up in the morning my face is pressed into the couch cushions instead of his chest and I take my pulse thinking of him. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Wednesday 26th January 1994 (Richie is 17, Eddie is 46)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> I run out to the clearing as soon as I get home from school. It’s not snowing but it’s cold enough to, and I’m worried about how long Eddie might have been outside. I’ve left him layers, thick socks and boots and the blanket from the basement couch, to go on top of his coat if he gets really cold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s calling my name as I run, but I can’t see him until I spin back round towards the house. He’s leaning against the wall by the back door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Coast clear?’ he asks, over pronouncing the words, so I can read his lips over the sound of the wind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes! Basement,’ I mouth back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I follow him down, and it’s not until I pull back from the hug I spring on him, that I notice he has a beard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh, wow,’ I say accidentally, as Eddie pulls off the blanket and coat, sitting down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks confused for a moment, tongue coming out to wet his lips. I follow his tongue like a hawk, until it slinks back inside his mouth. He rubs his chin, tilting his head to one side, so I can see the strong line of his jaw. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What do you think?’ he asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My mouth waters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pull off my beanie, throwing it at Eddie to distract him, while I school my face out of whatever horny, embarrassing thing it’s currently doing. I risk sitting next to him, hands tucked under my folded legs, firmly out of the way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What do I think? I think I want to hold his jaw and kiss him until I know exactly how soft his mouth is, and what his tongue tastes like. I want to know how long the beard took to grow, and if he notices when bits of food get stuck in it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I want to know if I still feel like a live wire, spinning out of the wall in a new shockwave, every time I look at him in the future. I want to know if thinking about using the word ‘husband’ still makes me feel like I’m leaking brain fluid. But most of all, I want to know what it feels like to see him everyday. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Isn’t it itchy? Mine’s itchy,’ I reply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You been letting it grow? It’s getting longer down on your neck,’ Eddie says, looking me over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I feel hot, like I always do when his eyes are on me. A mixture of excitement and existential dread, that he’ll finally notice how gross and long I am, and decide it’s a better use of his time in Derry, to play pool at the sports bar in town. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Your Dad teach you how to shave yet?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No. He keeps trying to.’ I’m reluctant to admit the next part. ‘I haven’t actually shaved yet.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s smiling, but not laughing at me like I thought he would. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Anyone else home?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shake my head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I could show you,’ he offers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I roll off my hands, tugging Eddie out of the basement and up the stairs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What are we gonna do if your Mom comes home while we’re up here? Wait, what’s the time? Are you skipping school?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hide you under my bed, 1pm, and yes!’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Richie,’ Eddie scolds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Of course I’m missing school, this is a much better education.’ I take a deep breath and drop my voice. ‘This. Is. Life. I must know how to be a man.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie sits on the bathtub laughing, while I hunt for the shaving foam and razors. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Get a couple of towels as well, small ones,’ he shouts, as I rummage about in the hallway.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie talks me through washing or ‘cleansing’ as he calls it, and how to use the razor. I thought he would hold my chin still and shave me himself, get his hands all over my face, maybe his arms around me, so we could both watch in the mirror. But he makes us stand side by side and shave separately. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There are a couple of standout moments; when Eddie tells me to clench my jaw and I see him do the same, a reclusive muscle in his cheek becoming prominent and setting my teeth on edge. Or when he tells me to move the razor in long, slow strokes, and it sends my brain somewhere low and dark. The best part is when he blots the two spots on my neck that I nick, holding his thumb and finger on my skin over the paper until it sticks, nose so close to mine I could kiss it, if I breathed in too hard or too fast. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Now we gotta moisturize, where’s your cream?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I dunno, my Mom might have something. Does your face feel all tight?’ I flex my jaw. ‘Mine feels tight.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s why we gotta moisturize, numbnuts.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I dig around, handing him a white and purple tube, which he turns his nose up at mouthing ‘lavender’, but opens it anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He squeezes a strip across his hands, which he warms, while I pull his hands towards my face, hoping he gets the hint and gives me what I’m silently asking for. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I close my eyes as he cups my chin, his fingers stroking down across my neck, then up across my cheeks, thumbing over my philtrum. I stand there, head empty, for ten completely perfect seconds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You wanna do me, space cadet?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, I wanna do you,’ I say, blinking myself back to earth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie clenches his jaw, as I stroke my fingers into his skin. It’s smooth and soft, and I try my best to press affection into his pores with my hands, as I touch all my favourite places on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t forget my neck,’ Eddie says, when I make my third trip over the freckles on his cheeks, even though he didn’t shave that far up.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie giggles, when I’ve reached his bullshit limit, after rubbing the same spot behind his ear for the fifth time. ‘I think you got it all.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m still holding his face in my hands, tilted back, so we can look at each other, when we hear the front door open. We’ve got seven seconds to get out of the bathroom before my Mom gets an eyeline of the upstairs landing, and we miss the window to get to my bedroom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I push Eddie in front of me, making him skid into the door frame and out of sight, knowing my Mom will have seen me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Richie. Why are you not at school?’ she shouts up the stairs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stand on the landing, facing her and gag dramatically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Uggh, Mom, I’m so sick. I just can’t stop pooping.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Have you been throwing potpourri around up there again? I can smell it from here.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s the only thing strong enough to mask the smell.’ I say, running down the stairs towards her, as she bolts into the kitchen. ‘Do you wanna check? Wanna check if I’m sick.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do not come in here if you have poo issues. Talk to your Dad.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ooo-kay’ I sing, heading back up the stairs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s head is peeking out my bedroom door, giving me the stern adult look. He tickles me onto the floor after I close the door, so I know he doesn’t mean it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re so good at that,’ he says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Nah, she just can’t be bothered arguing with me. By the time I get back to school, it’ll be time to come home anyway. Are you gonna see me when you go back?’ I ask, hoping I already know the answer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I hope so. I was with you when I left.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We’re sandwiched together on the floor, leaning against my bed, so Eddie’s probably seen my toes curl into the carpet, as I think about all the things we might have been doing before Eddie came here. I hope it was kissing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Will I be disappointed your beard is gone?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie laughs and we both flinch, looking towards the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ll ask,’ he says, poking me in the chest. ‘And you can tell me yourself when I get back.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hold out my hand and we shake on it.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Friday 25th February 1994 (Richie is 17, Eddie is 47)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> According to the newspaper Richie’s left me, this is his penultimate visit, so I know exactly what we’re doing today.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’ll be in Derry for another six months after my visits stop, and I want him to have something really good to think about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ve had a couple of lottery tickets tucked inside the lining of the box from a draw in September last year. I cashed mine in a few weeks ago, and buried the money under the clothes box. Three matching numbers, worth $1000, which I split in half with the guy I met on Maine street who cashed it in for me. $500 is more than enough for today.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other ticket I’ll give to Richie on his birthday. Four numbers, worth $20,000. Enough to get him out of this shit hole, and enjoy himself a bit before we see each other again. I know his parents will make sure he’s okay, but I want him to have this from me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s already in the clearing when I get there, quoting a scene from Wayne's World back and forth to himself. I stand out of view and watch, as he cracks himself up every few words. We’re exactly the same in one regard, full to the brim with stupid when we’re in love.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sneak up behind him, when he’s too preoccupied with a gyrating air guitar solo to notice me. I pick him up around his waist, hoisting him into the air, as he screams, going rigid in my arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eddie, what the fuck!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I jam my fingers into his armpit and tickle him hard over his coat. He leans back into a dip against me, bicycle wheeling his legs into the ground to get away. I fake drop and catch him an inch closer to the ground, before pushing him back onto his feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eddie!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh, hey Rich,’ I say, pulling his bunched up coat back down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck you. Fuck you, Eds.’ Richie doubles over, putting his head between his knees for a second, before looking up at me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Not shouting at me today?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ve been shouting at you?’ I ask confused, before internally flinching when I remember what he’s referring to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, like three visits ago or something. Nevermind.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s voice sounds like it’s dropped a couple of octaves since I last heard it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you wanna ditch the garden and go somewhere?’ I ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Go into Derry? Ugh. Isn’t that dangerous for you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, but I mean go to Bangor.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s doing a weird little side step around me, like a cat on the prowl, before folding himself over me in a hug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you remember September 3rd 1993?’ he asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Good.’ Richie squeezes me. ‘I’m glad you’re not mad at me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Not mad. Very happy to be here. There’s nowhere else in all of time and space I’d rather be, actually.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Aren’t you pissed you just disappeared to dick around with me?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No. I was pretty bored actually. I’m on my own at the moment, so it’s perfect timing.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We’re pressed together, unconsciously swaying, not really dancing but not just hugging either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why are you on your own?’ Richie asks, voice small.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can’t tell you. It’s nothing bad though.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pull back and Richie has his eyes closed, a blissed out smile on his face. I know that expression. I fucking love that expression. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are we doing this? I got a whole thing planned,’ I ask again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie opens his eyes and frowns, like he doesn’t believe me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I start walking around the house towards the road, knowing that he’ll follow. I’ve been looking forward to this visit and I don’t want to waste any time in the garden. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You better be taking me to eat, I’m fucking hungry,’ Richie says, jogging to catch up to me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> Eddie’s picking at eggs, too busy explaining how his time jumping lottery scheme works, to actually eat. We’re sat at the back of a diner, our knees bumping together under the table, every time Eddie over pronounces the name of an obscure memory technique he’s learned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I feel exactly like the night after Christmas, when Eddie let me cuddle him for three entire REM cycles, except this time we’re in public and Eddie’s talking to me like I’m the only other person in the world. He’s focused on me in that laser sharp way, that makes my blood feel like cocaine. I’ve never tried it, I’m just theorising. That’s how good it feels. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I must be in love. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What is this?’ I ask, stopping Eddie mid sentence, his hand freezes in the air like a Ninja stuck on it’s own sword. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s brunch.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No. This.’ I wave my fork in the space between us. ‘Is this weird, if you’re married. You and me. Is this cheating?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can’t cheat on you with yourself.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay,’ I say, unconvinced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I mean, you’re the same person. This day happened decades ago for you in the future, but-’ Eddie stops, watching people move around behind me for a moment, checking no-ones in ear range. ‘Just so we’re clear, this is our first date. If you want it to be. First date for you anyway, I’ve been on loads of dates.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘With me?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, christ, we’re married.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s stupid, why would we go on dates if we’re married?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s romantic.’ Eddie laughs, leaning towards me, his eggs abandoned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I look around quickly before speaking, even though we’re alone at the back of the diner. ‘You like that?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh yeah. You better romance the shit outta me, Rich.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I- can’t?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Shut the fuck up you can’t.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t know how.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You do. You’ve been doing it your whole life!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No. No way. No. I didn’t.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘All the mix-tapes, the comics. Richie, all the times you gave me the extra ice cream sprinkles. I know what that means. I’m on to you fucko.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fucking, shut up,’ I say, low, ready to snap my hand over Eddie’s mouth if he lists one more nice thing I did for him.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I should have explained this better before we left Derry. It’s totally cool if you don’t wanna do this. We can do whatever you want today. I know you haven’t been on many dates-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I haven’t been on </span>
  <em>
    <span>any </span>
  </em>
  <span>dates.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie acknowledges my embarrassment by pointing the blunt edge of his fork at me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘So... I thought we could have one. A date. Do all the usual teenage stuff, if you wanted.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I have never wanted anything more. My first fucking date and it’s with Eddie Kaspbrak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You gonna show me the back seat of your car, Eds?’ I ask, giggling. My stomach leaps into my throat in panic, that he might say yes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I said we were doing teenage stuff.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Teenagers do that!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Not on the first date,’ Eddie grins, eating his eggs again. There’s a joke in there somewhere, he might let me in on, in a few decades time. ‘I might hold your hand. Might. If you’re lucky, if you’re very, very lucky. And only if you want to.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I want to,’ I say. I want anything he’ll give me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You eating that?’ Eddie asks, dragging my last waffle off of my plate and into the mess his eggs have left. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes, butthole, give it back.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie sticks his fork in and we attack it from either side, stuffing our faces as fast as we in a race, until I feel sick. Eddie signals for the bill, giving me a sticky smile, happy and relaxed from the sugar rush. He was right, I am good at romancing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I slip a hundred dollars into Richie’s palm when we walk into the record store, and tell him to go nuts. It’s huge, but he still manages to loop back around every five minutes to show me something new. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hang out at the front of the store and pay for a cassette, ‘Dookie by Greenday’, while Richie’s not looking. I also buy a couple of tickets for a band playing tonight. Future Richie’s got one of their CD’s in his collection, so I’m guessing he likes them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie worked some magic with his parents, so we’re staying late and getting the last bus back to Derry. I’m hoping I’ll make it all the way back to the garden tonight, so I can leave the cassette in the box for his birthday.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s orbit has gone wide, and I find him tucked into a listening booth, jamming away, all elbows and knees, to something rocky. He hands me the second set of headphones and I pretend to be into it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a tight space, we’re smashed together when he takes my hand. He’s biting his lip down from a shit eating grin, not looking at me, probably not aware of how clammy his hand is where it’s trembling against mine. I bump his shoulder, knocking him into moving again, taking my hand with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We leave with seven cassette albums and a store t-shirt that Richie picks out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> Eddie’s leading us towards the middle of town, tight lipped about where we’re going. I’m still in shock he gave me a hundred dollars to spend on music. That’s more than I’d normally have in a year. He seems especially amenable to bullshit today, and I want to poke him until he explodes all over me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You know, Eds,’ I say, flicking his ear, while we walk. ‘I think you’re full of shit.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t think teenagers drop a hundred dollars at a record store on a first date.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You wanna take it back?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No.’ I stuff my hands in my pockets. ‘What are we doing now? We’re going to a movie right, it’s not a date without a movie.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Firstly, fuck you for guessing, that was meant to be a surprise-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We’re going to see Ace Ventura.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Haven’t you seen it already?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Four times.’ I walk double time to keep up with Eddie. I’m one bad impression away from him sprinting into the distance at this pace. ‘Not with you though. Haven’t seen it with you.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I jostle Eddie into the path of a street lamp, and he grabs my arm to steady himself, kicking me in the knee once he has his balance back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Quit it, dickhead.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We round a corner and the theatre is in front of us. It’s just like the Capitol, illuminated sign and awning out the front, stacked with arcade machines inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If we watch this, I wanna hear the voice,’ Eddie says, deadly serious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You want to hear the voice? You want that?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can you do it?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eds, give me some fucking credit,’ I say, spinning around him. I nearly topple over his legs to talk to the Beagle walking past us. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Did you hear that Buster? Eddie wants to know if I can do the voice.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie grimaces an apology to the owner, and slaps me out of the full body impression squat I was lining up to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Not fucking here, in there.’ Eddie pushes me through the cinema doors. ‘Get in there.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m high as a kite on a spring afternoon. This must be what marriage does to you. Makes you soft and stupid, and slowly go insane. I must have finally worn Eddie down, scooped him far enough into my bubble of weirdness that this all seems normal. I hope like fuck he’s done the same to me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We spend most of the film in an addictive feedback loop, where Eddie watches me more than the movie, and I expel all the nervous energy from his attention by being as irritating as possible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie reminds me about my behaviour at the Beetlejuice screening on Halloween 1991, and I treat him to a little Michael Keaton impression during one of the boring cop scenes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I have a near miss with the back of the seat, nearly knocking my front teeth out of my skull, bending over to do the talking butt impression. So I settle down after that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s something I’ve always wanted to do with Eddie, that I never, ever, had the guts for. It’s such a blatant romantic gesture, I never knew how to pull it off as a joke without being seen. I really don’t want Eddie to think it’s a joke now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I undershoot, missing his shoulder and elbowing the back of his head. I make out the glint of his eye, where he’s watching me side on, and I silently beg him to take pity on me and not laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie tucks his head onto my shoulder, his hair brushing against my chin, as I finish curling my arm around his shoulder. He takes my hand in his, sliding our fingers together and holding me in place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I close my eyes and forget all about the movie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie</b>
  <span>: It’s too early for the last bus home, but we’re walking back that way regardless. We just left a fancy Italian restaurant that I picked out as a first date privilege. Eddie also let me choose what we both ate, spaghetti and a bowl of gelato to share. I always thought gelato was a type of cake, but it’s a delicious, fancy ice cream. I copied Eddie and ate one handed, so we could join fingers under the white linen table cloth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m committing the dinner to memory, deliberately bumping Eddie’s shoulder as we walk together, when he places a hand on my shoulder to stop me, gesturing across the street to a line of people queuing to go inside a bar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘There’s a gig tonight, you wanna go?’ Eddie asks, waving a pair of tickets in my eyeline.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No fucking way. For real?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hmm. I heard you like this band, so-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I grip Eddie’s wrist so I can read the tickets properly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ve never heard of this band.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie bites his lip and turns away, grinning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Did you just make a time loop or something?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No. Fuck.’ Eddie slaps my nose with the tickets. ‘Do you wanna go or what?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ll never get in there.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ll get you in,’ Eddie says, crossing the street before I can object. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘My ID says I’m seventeen,’ I whisper, close to his ear, as we walk straight past the line and around the side of the building. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Shut up and tell me if someone comes down the alley.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m a terrible look out, choosing to watch Eddie be a complete badass and pick the lock on the side entry door instead.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why did you bother getting tickets if we’re sneaking in?’ I ask, once we’re inside, walking down a back corridor and past the toilets, into the bar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘They’re a memento,’ Eddie shouts over the noise, steering me towards the bar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How you gonna take them with you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘For you, you idiot,’ he says, slipping the tickets into my jacket and pinching my hip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie makes me chug a pint of water at the bar, as the band walks on stage, before pushing me into the crowd and letting me loose. The band are noisy and chaotic, and I dance and sweat, while Eddie watches from the side. I make my way back to him whenever I need a moment to breathe, glad for whatever weird mobius strip moment in the future brought us here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I drape myself over Eddie’s back, when my limbs start to hurt. He pretends to ignore me, so I headbut him like a cat, until he holds my chin still. He holds a glass and straw up over his shoulder and I take a sip, nearly gagging when the liquid hits the back of my throat and I realise he’s drinking root beer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He yanks the drink away, turning towards me and I freeze. For the briefest moment I think he’s going to kiss me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I could see your head over the crowd out there. You’re fucking lucky you didn’t hurt yourself running into the pit,’ Eddie yells into my ear. I feel the vibration of his voice against my cheek as much as I hear him.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Stop watching the crowd, watch the band!’ I shout back, annoyed we have to turn into each other to talk and I can’t see his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Couldn’t give a fuck about the band. I’m here to be with you.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You should watch the band. I like them.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie takes the straw back and follows my advice. I rest my chin on the top of his head and move with him whenever he taps his feet. I let my hands hang by my side, strung out from the atmosphere and Eddie’s words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I close my eyes, letting Eddie sway me, my face making a mess of itself in the dark. There’s only one visit left after this, and I still don’t know when I’ll see Eddie again in the future. We feel so close to something like this and it’s so unfair that just when it’s all coming together, he’s going to slip away again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stay with Eddie for the rest of the gig, cleaning myself up when he returns his glass to the bar. We have to run to make the bus, Eddie pulling me along behind him, my gait no match for his lightning legs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He disappears ten minutes out from Derry bus terminal, so I walk home alone, the pile of his clothes growing cold in my arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I put the clothes back in the box in the woods, but take his t-shirt inside with me. I skim $50 off of the $200 left over and leave the rest for him. I know he sometimes comes to Derry when he doesn’t see me, so maybe he’ll need it. I’m planning to leave the box full when I leave for college, just in case. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I crawl into bed that night wearing Eddie’s t-shirt. I have a whole stash of them now, clothes of mine that he’s worn. Special shirts I’m never gonna throw out. Maybe he’ll wear them when I see him again, let me kiss him and pull them up by the hem to rub my hands across his back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I miss him already. Eddie that I haven’t seen since we were sixteen, and Eddie that fell asleep on my shoulder and disappeared an hour ago, snuffling when I poked his cheek to keep myself amused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If what Eddie says is true, if all of this is real, I get the only thing I ever wanted. I just have to do the thing I find the hardest first. Be patient and wait. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Monday March 7th 1994 (Richie is 18, Eddie is 49)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie</b>
  <span>: I’ve been waiting in the clearing all morning, not wanting to waste a second with Eddie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stand on the log to try and spot him. He’s shuffling about loudly in the woods, spitting on his hand to wet his hair back. He spots me back immediately, when I start laughing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I borrowed some more of the leftover money from our date, and brought a pair of black jeans in Eddie’s size. I usually leave him an old pair of mine, which run baggy, but these fit him perfectly everywhere that matters. He’s rolled them up at the hem so they don’t get wet on the grass, the little short ass. I’ve also left him a slightly too small, white t-shirt, my fake leather jacket, and the boots in his size I always leave him, that I got from a thrift store last year.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why have you dressed me like Danny fucking Zuko?’ Eddie asks, once he’s in speaking range.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘This is way more River Phoenix, don’t you think?’ I reply. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I jog down to meet him halfway, and we collapse into each other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Dressing me like cute boys now?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes.’ I lean back to grin so Eddie can see it, and he grins right back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Last visit huh?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Is it the last for you too?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I got a few more to go.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Unfair. Do you remember September 3rd 1993?’ I ask, extremely nervous that he’ll say no.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie rubs his hands over the top of my back. ‘Yeah, I remember.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Good,’ I say, pushing my face into his neck. I take him by the hand and pull him towards the house. ‘No-ones home, so we can go inside.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s watching me, expression flat as we walk down to the basement, and I hope he can’t feel my palm sweating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I got you some chocolate biscuits, if you’re hungry.’ I gesture over to the coffee table, where I’ve tried to arrange them nicely on a plate. I panicked and ate three before going to the clearing, and now they look asymmetrical. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thanks,’ Eddie says, also eating three, re-aligning the plate like he can read my mind. He hands me a slip of paper when we sit down on the couch. It’s a lottery ticket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘For you. Happy Birthday. Cash it in before you leave Derry, and use it to travel or something, whatever you want.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How much is it?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Twenty grand.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My mouth flaps open like a fish in shock. ‘Eddie, I can’t.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I want you to have it.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I look down at the paper slip, overwhelmed. I thought getting a Discman from my parents this morning was a win. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Go see some bands with it. You had such a good time at the gig last month,’ Eddie says, picking up on my infectious smile. ‘There’s a tape in the pocket of the coat I wore to Bangor for you as well.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tell me where you are. I’ll come and get you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s face plummets, taking the atmosphere of the room with it.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can’t.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eds, I’ll help you. We can be friends until you figure things out. I don’t mind. Just tell me where you are.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Richie, I can’t. I’m so sorry.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t get it. How we can be married in the future and you still won’t tell me.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It makes sense one day. It does.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s three years, isn’t it?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie blinks back at me, confused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘After college. When we meet each other again.’ I sniff and press my face into my arm to blot the tears off my face. ‘I’ve been thinking about it, and that must be what happens. I’m going to school in California, so if I don’t see you while I’m there, I’ll come to New York when college finishes.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That sounds like a good plan,’ Eddie says, his face neutral. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Is that what happens though? You said you’d tell me before the last visit.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s better if I don’t tell you exactly what happens.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You promised.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know. I’m really fucking sorry. I don’t want to upset you, but I’m not gonna tell you how it happens.’ Eddie hands me the blanket from the back of the couch to clean my face. ‘When you see me again, I won’t know about any of this. It won’t have happened for me yet. Go easy on me yeah?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Is it worth all the waiting?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s worth it for me. You’re- yeah, it’s worth it, hundred percent.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay,’ I say, trying to trust Eddie’s words. ‘I’ll wait for you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t wait for me, Rich. If you meet someone you like at college, you should go for it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I want to be with you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You will. But don’t put your life on hold waiting for me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I won’t want anyone else.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ve never felt more confident about something in my life. Eddie said it himself, he’s my person.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If you change your mind though, I won’t be upset.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You won’t be upset if I have another boyfriend?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No. No way. Get it all out of your system. Please. Go and enjoy yourself at college. Kiss all the boys you want, or none of the boys. Whatever you want.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe I’d want to kiss someone else, if Eddie doesn’t mind, so I can get good at it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What do you wanna do today? Your pick,’ Eddie says, turning towards me and removing his jacket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I want to kiss you,’ I say, trying my luck, my heartbeat tripling in speed and making me dizzy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie raises his eyebrows, like he knew this was coming. ‘Okay. You can kiss me here,’ he says, tapping the highest point of his cheekbone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s where I kiss my Mom,’ I groan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie holds his hands up in surrender, scooting back to lean against the arm of the couch, unacceptably moving away from me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m eighteen, why can’t I kiss you like my husband?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We’re not married yet. You can kiss me like I’m your best friend.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s boring.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s not. It’s the best fucking part! The married stuff is good, yeah, it’s like the strawberry sauce, but it wouldn’t be hot shit if you didn’t have the ice cream and the cone to start with. It’s fucking phenomenal, because of what we’ve always had, our friendship. So if you wanna kiss me, that’s the deal. You kiss me as your best friend. You can kiss me like your husband next time you see me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Promise?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You bet.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Still fucking unfair you get to go back and kiss me properly after this.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tell me to get fucked if you want. I’ll tell you where I’ve been, and you can stick it to me on behalf of teenage Richie.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I will. No kissing for a week.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘A week,’ Eddie hoots. ‘You’re gonna regret saying that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lean in across the couch, while Eddie’s distracted laughing up a lung, getting my hands underneath his shirt sleeves to hold him still. He holds me back, across my shoulders, stopping me from climbing into his lap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Try anything and I’ll ditch you,’ he says, smug, tilting his face towards me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I huff, not believing him, but wanting to do what he’s said regardless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I watch his eyes slide closed and I copy him, knowing this is how it works in the movies. I breath out against his skin and touch him, my mouth moving up and down his cheek bone, over and over again, seeking out freckles I can’t see but know are there, the taste of him masculine and creamy all at the same time on my mouth. I sway on my knees, eyes still closed when he gently pushes me back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You want one back?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I swing my head, knocking him with my nose in haste. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Jesus. Hold still then you menace.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie holds my chin in his hand, planting a quick wet kiss in the middle of my cheek. I turn my head slowly and he kisses me again, softer this time, on the other cheek. I gather him into a hug when he lets go, feeling electric. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Love you, Eds,’ I say, trying to press how I feel into Eddie’s body, so he can take it with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Love you, too,’ Eddie says, holding me back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Will you touch my hair?’ I ask, when my arms around him start to feel numb.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah. You wanna watch a movie or something? I know it’s early.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, I want to.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I put on Alien, because it used to scare the living shit out of Eddie, and I’m hoping it still might, so he’ll be scared and handsy, trying to climb all over me to get away from the TV. I used to joke that he was just like the baby alien, always popping up out of nowhere, screaming and chasing people fast as hell. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie lets me lie back against his chest, my bum nestled in the vee of his hips. It makes my legs dangle off the end of the couch, but I don’t mind, distracted by him drawing sweet nothings through my hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I have my eyes closed most of the time, not watching the film. I’m trying to use the memory technique I read about, in one of my Mum’s hippy therapy books, to fuse the last ninety minutes permanently into my brain. I can hear Ripley in the escape pod with the cat, about to blast the alien into space for good, when Eddie tilts my head back to look at him. He’s got a strange look over his face I can’t place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Love you, Richie.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I dig my fingers hard into his arm, like I can stop the inevitable and pin him to me, a butterfly to a board, that I’ll let free once I know it’s safe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eddie, don’t.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I get one last look at his face and then I’m alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lie on the couch, not moving until my Mom comes home in the afternoon. She brings out a cake I have to pretend I didn’t see her make last night, and I try to be happy about finally being an adult. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Wednesday 14th September 1994 (Richie is 18)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie</b>
  <span>: I’m walking through Derry, on what I really hope will be my last trip through these awful streets. Dad’s driving me cross country to California in the morning, so I can start college next week. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I want to see the kissing bridge one last time, to see if it’s still there. The declaration I made to Eddie five years ago. I know the next three years will be awful without him, but more time has passed since I first carved my feelings into the wood, so I know I can do this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s another carving which catches my eye. An ‘R’ in the middle of a heart, right underneath where I’ve carved my ‘R+E’. I laugh to myself, even though I know it’s not meant for me. They’re way too late anyway, whoever they are. I’m a taken man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I press my hand over the wood, before I walk back home. I know he won’t be with me to begin with, but tomorrow I start my life with Eddie.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Warnings: vomiting, minor facial injury, bullying, internalised homophobia, threatened violence (without intent to harm)</p><p>Author Note (contains spoilers): Richie and Eddie are different ages until the end of Chapter 3 and there is no underage content in this fic.</p><p>Richie and Eddie touch each other multiple times in this chapter. This would fall in line with a close Uncle/Nephew or Cousin relationship, based on my personal experience. </p><p>It's mostly instigated by Richie and discussed verbally multiple times. I was really conscious of this line when writing these chapters.</p><p>Chapter 4, when the rating changes to 'E' takes place in 2016 when Richie and Eddie are the same age.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Richie: I follow Bev and Ben into the restaurant, keyed up to ten, wobbling on the high wire of panic I’m walking. My hand extends before I can help myself, clinging to the gong stick like a monkey to a symbol, safe and loud. </p><p>Eddie’s in front of me, face turned away, but he’s just like I remember. Short and tidy all over, from the cut of his hair, to the neat line of his clothes, right down to his running sneakers, which look too clean to have ever seen a track. Everything about his posture is wired, like a newly tuned guitar string. </p><p>I almost close my eyes as he turns, wanting to prolong the moment of comprehension, in case the image of him in my head shatters and disappears, like words whispered into the wind. </p><p>But it’s absolutely him. It’s Eddie.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>'E' rating is for Chapter 4 onwards, so this chapter is rated 'E' :)</p><p>~</p><p>This chapter roughly follows It Chapter 2 movie events, with a couple of broad differences. I don’t reference the below changes in the chapter, but have summarized for context:<br/>-Richie and Eddie can recall their Derry memories much quicker than in the movie. By the time they get to the restaurant, they have pretty much their full memories back.<br/>-Bower’s doesn’t interact with the Losers, so Eddie doesn’t get stabbed in the face, and Richie doesn’t axe him to protect Mike.<br/>-Stan is in Derry and he’s fine!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Wednesday 14th September 2016 (Richie is 40, Eddie is 40)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> Eddie walked into the restaurant ten minutes ago. I watched him jog nervously across the parking lot, from the safety of my car, unable to breath until he disappeared out of sight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’d just got a long string of panic attacks under control, a little pool of vomit on the ground outside my door, giving me away if anyone was looking. I breath my way through a fresh wave of nausea, working up the balls to go and follow Eddie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ve spent the hours following Mike’s phone call re-aligning my life back into place. I feel like Johnny five, able to comprehend an entire book in seconds, except I’m flicking my way through a childhood's worth of memories. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I remember everything. The Losers, Pennywise, and the grip It had on us all, that awful summer. But mostly, I remember Eddie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can recall, all at once, as quickly as skimming through a flick book, all of the time we spent together. How I grew up with him, fell in love with him, and everything in between. I finally understand why he never wrote back to me after leaving. He forgot about me. We forgot about each other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I also forgot that Eddie can fucking time travel. That he spent months visiting me when I was a teenager. He knew, that whole time, how long we’d wait to see each other again, and just how deeply it would wreck me, if I knew it was twenty-two years. I thought he was being an asshole when he refused to talk about it, but he was doing me a huge kindness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If I stay in the car much longer I’ll start to cry again, thinking about those visits. How Eddie supported me into coming out, in a way that no-one else has since. How he gave me a place to express myself, but never pushed me or trivialized my feelings. I remember so fucking clearly, how loved and safe he made me feel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I forgot him, but I never lost the imprint of what he gave me during that time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’d check myself into the Psych ward for thinking time travel is real, if there wasn’t an actual genetic condition called Chrono-Impairment. I heard about it, like most people, through the mountain of Back to the Future memes that circulated years ago. I googled it before Eddie showed up, in the hour I’ve sat alone in the car. It’s rare as fuck, but sounds just like I remember. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Genetic condition or not, this could all be a very twisted trick. The perfect way for Pennywise to hook me back in, so much crueler than taunting me with a room full of clowns, or with certified babe Paul Bunyan. It’s the most brutal thing I can think of. Dangling a life in front of me, where Eddie wants me back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ll know if this is genuine when I see Eddie’s face. If he looks the same as I remember, I’ll know it’s real. I want it to be real.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I spot Bev and Ben in the parking lot, and realize how much time I’ve wasted hiding. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I follow them into the restaurant, keyed up to ten, wobbling on the high wire of panic I’m walking. My hand extends before I can help myself, clinging to the gong stick like a monkey to a symbol, safe and loud. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s in front of me, face turned away, but he’s just like I remember. Short and tidy all over, from the cut of his hair, to the neat line of his clothes, right down to his running sneakers, which look too clean to have ever seen a track. Everything about his posture is wired, like a newly tuned guitar string. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I almost close my eyes as he turns, wanting to prolong the moment of comprehension, in case the image of him in my head shatters and disappears, like words whispered into the wind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it’s absolutely him. It’s Eddie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s younger than I’ve ever seen him as an adult, but just as gorgeous. He frowns, his soft, brown, bottomless eyes questioning who I am. I watch his mind catch up to his memory, his whole body relaxing into a smile, when he figures it out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as he knows, I can’t stop myself. I fling the gong stick over my shoulder and move. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey Rich,’ Eddie says, his hands coming up to hug me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I steer him backwards in a clash of cutlery, closing him in against the table with my arms. He tilts his head back to face me, and we’re nose to nose, breathing on each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey Eds,’ I say gently, just for him, cupping his face and smoothing my thumb over the spot high on his cheeks that I’m used to seeing golden brown and covered in freckles. It’s smooth and pale today. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie doesn’t move, and I can’t tell if it’s a good or bad sign. The air in the room has evaporated. He slides a hand around the back of my neck, the contact acting as a starter pistol for my mouth. I press my lips to his whisper soft, wanting to keep this gentle. But the taste of him ripples through me and I can’t help myself from licking into his mouth, silently pleading for him to kiss me back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie does, and then we’re necking, zero to sixty, our tongues sliding together as replacements for the hands that always used to slap each other in greeting, with annoyance and love. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie moans, a fucking filthy sound, that I swallow and rebound right back to him. He sounds exactly how I feel, crazy with the taste of his mouth, and the firm pull of his hand on my neck, keeping me close. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He scoots back, sitting on the table and taking me with him, so I’m pressed flush between his stupidly strong thighs, which squeeze and hold me in place. I would gladly have them crush me within an inch of my life, just for the pleasure of being that close to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pull back a little with my tongue, and really feel his lips with mine. They’re soft and sharp at the same time, just like the rest of Eddie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He must know what happens between us if he’s kissing me back like this. Eddie from the future must have visited him, just like he did for me. Playing matchmaker for himself across the decades that divided us.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a lot of noise coming from the other side of the room, and I remember where we are. There are five pairs of eyes on us, while we dry hump over an ornate tablecloth. Eddie feels my attention wander, and grips my jaw to keep my focus on him. He sucks hard on my bottom lip, and I try my best not to pass out on top of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then I feel it against my face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I remember Richie immediately. My childhood best friend, who I couldn’t stop thinking about the entire ride back to Derry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I forgot him, on that awful day I left Derry, when my Mom lied and drove me away before I could say goodbye to him. I cried all the way to Brunswick, only stopping because I couldn’t remember what I was upset about. That moment stayed with me all this time, rattling around at the edge of my mind, like an itch I could never reach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I know Richie would have gone to my house. He probably stayed and waited, to see if I’d come back. I hope he didn’t wait too long. We were going to write to each other, but I never did. He probably hates me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m a completely different person to the boy who left Derry. Now with an incomprehensible secret, I could never share with anyone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I turn around in the restaurant, knowing from the sound of the gong, that Richie’s just entered the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s still all long limbs and oozing goof, reverberating like the gong he’s just smashed. He grins, and a lightning bolt of tension cracks through the room, connecting us. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t process anything else, before he’s looming over me, my vision blurring with his proximity. He breathes out and says my name, the faint taste of whisky on his mouth, and the gentle press of his fingers on my face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My mind goes blank, and my body takes over, knowing exactly what to do. I’m definitely kissing him back. He’s strong, and tall, closing me in against the table in a way I didn’t know I liked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie moans, low and dirty into my mouth, and I want more of whatever this is. I pull him closer when his mouth slows down, and he brushes, hard and heavy against my leg, sending a shot of adrenaline straight into my prick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s pulling away slowly, but I’m not ready for this to stop. I hold his face in my hands, his stubble rough and surprisingly nice against my fingers. He jerks away, holding my wrist in a vice grip, staring at my hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You lied to me,’ Richie says quietly. The colour drains from his face, leaving him picket fence white. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He exits the restaurant just as quickly as he came in, leaving me balanced on the edge of the table, legs open and flushed. I can feel tension crashing over me from across the room. My body stays plastered to the table as I look at the others. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a real mixed bunch of reactions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill looks like he wants to bathe in bleach, while Mike and Ben are both giving me subtle thumbs up, their hands by their hips, Stan looks one blink away from murdering me, and Bev, holy shit. Bev is squatting down, her hands in the air, like a crab inside a boiling pot of water, about to explode. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eddie!’ she laughs. ‘What was that!’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don't reply, head lust drunk, swooping my finger to point in the direction Richie just disappeared, stumbling off the table to follow him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pace in the parking lot, shocked at how into the kiss I was. I’ve never been into anything like that. Not just the kiss, but getting swept off my feet by a six foot tall, four foot broad man. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a wheel spinning in my head, going fucking haywire, almost certainly about to tell me something. Like the wheel from one of the game shows my Mom always made me watch after school. She used to think the contestants looked so happy to be there, but I always thought they looked miserable. I feel like I’m one of them, about to find out if I’m going home empty handed, or with a prize so big I’ll struggle to find room for it. Like a boat or a stupid fucking jet ski. The wheel always felt like it was spinning for an age, even back then. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It reminds me or something else, a summer day we all spent at Mike’s farm. I’d wandered off from the others, up the hill, to get a better look at the pattern the sheep were making in the grass below. There was a bee floating round me in lazy circles, like I was a flower. I never liked bees, the idea of a swarm of them used to scare me, even before I thought I was allergic. But one I could handle, one was manageable. Only there wasn’t just one bee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I feel like I’m back on the hill, watching the bees circle, each one a vital part of the colony and the bigger picture. I know what the wheel’s going to tell me before it stops spinning, just like I knew where I was standing that day, before the back of my foot hit the hive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike had seen me panic and pulled me down the hill. He kept telling me there wasn’t anything to be worried about, bees only sting you if they feel threatened. He’d let me hide my face from the others in his shoulder, until I didn’t feel like crying anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Later, he’d shown us all some of the honey the bees had made. The jar was almost empty, and we’d taken turns sticking our grubby fingers in and licking them clean. Even though I was still scared of the bees, it was the best honey I’ve ever tasted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The wheel stops and the arrow is irrelevant. All of the spaces say the same thing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The realization reveals itself, already fully grown, it’s roots already spread far and wide throughout the rest of me, without me knowing. I’m gay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I'm a quarter of a mile down the road, the restaurant a tiny light in the distance, before I stop to think. I don’t know where I’m running to, but it’s away from Richie. The man who just licked something life changing right out of me, that I could never figure out on my own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a relief, actually. That this isn’t another way my body’s betrayed me. Maybe I do like being touched, if it’s with the right person. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I start jogging back the way I came, wanting more data. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben’s in the parking lot looking for me, when I make it back to the restaurant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Did you find Richie?’ he asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I point to a red sports car with it’s engine off, that I can see the back of Richie’s head in. ‘I haven’t spoken to him.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you okay?’ Ben asks, resting his hand on my shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I laugh, a high, short sound, unsure how to answer that question. Ben looks back at me, confused, his face soft and kind, just like I remember it always being. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I fit my hands into the front of his shirt, tugging him down, and press up against the corner of his mouth. He stills like a rock in my grip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s nice, or it would be if he was kissing me back. An upgrade, but nothing like it was with Richie. Not in the same league as Richie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sorry,’ I cough, letting go and pulling his jacket back into place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben smiles, squatting down to peck my cheek and hug me on my own level. ‘Missed you Eddie.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s the first time in years I’ve been hugged without an ulterior motive. The bubble of something painful sits in my throat, not ready to come out yet, but choking me all the same. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We’re gonna eat, you get Richie.’ Ben says, letting go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I look over at the car as Ben walks away, wondering if Richie saw us. He’s crying hard enough that I can hear it through the window, when I approach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey.’ I tap the glass and he startles, signaling for me to go away with one hand, trying to hide his face with the other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pretend to leave, but try my luck with the unlocked passenger door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, Eddie, don’t. Please don’t make this worse,’ Richie says, as I get into the car. ‘I’ve fucked this up, just leave and let me-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I poke him hard in the nose, again and again as he talks, until he drops his hands to swat me away. His face is a mess, red and wet all over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I keep poking until he laughs at me wetly, looking away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I didn’t realize I was gay-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh no.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘-until you kissed me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s hands fly up over his mouth in shock. ‘Eddie, I’m-’ He looks worse than when I got in the car. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he finishes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m not.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie stares back at me in shock, then looks down at his hands for a long moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I thought it would be different, seeing you again,’ he says, gesturing at me, hiccupping through tears that have started rolling down his face. ‘You said I could do that.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘When the fuck did I say you could dry hump me in a chinese restaurant?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It makes Richie laugh again, another sad, wet sound. ‘You said I could kiss you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Did we… hook up or something?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No. I fucking wish,’ Richie replies. ‘I know about your... special thing,’ he says, a pointed look on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I glance down at my dick, thinking he means my freakishly high libido, but there’s no fucking way he’d know about that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Dude. For whatever kinky reason you just looked at your dick, it’s not that.’ A lightbulb comes on over Richie’s head and his face jumps to life. ‘They figured it out? That’s how you time travel? You use your dick to time travel?!’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How the fuck would I use my dick-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We stare at each other, eyes comically wide, like we’ve just been caught by the principal in a John Hughes movie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie cannot know about this. I’ve never told anyone, ever, about this. I’ve been methodically, meticulously, careful about keeping this from people my whole life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I start feeling for the door handle behind me, ready to start running as soon as my feet hit the pavement. Richie clocks it, grabbing my shirt and running his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You used to visit me, when I was sixteen and you’re older. This is the youngest I’ve seen you as an adult.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eddie, yes. I’ve seen it, I’ve seen you. You have Chrono-Impairment.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shove the door open and tumble out, kicking Richie in the chest. He grabs me again, pulling me back inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Please don’t run Eds. I’m not gonna do anything.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How many times did you see me?’ I ask, one hand gripping the door handle like it’s a lifeline. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘A lot. Maybe fifty times. I had this book. You wrote all the dates of your visits in it, so I could meet you at the bottom of my garden.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The concept of visiting someone fifty times in the past sounds insane to me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You ah- you told me that where you were coming from we were married. That’s why I kissed you.’ Richie closes his eyes as his face continues to fall. ‘I guess that we’re in an alternate timeline or something, and someone else got there first.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I rub my ring before I can stop myself, feeling sick. I know very well there are no alternate timelines. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If I visit Richie fifty times, and sincerely tell him we’re married, there must be something behind it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I mean,’ Richie continues. ‘I totally forgot all of this until Mike called me. It’s not like I’ve been hanging out, waiting for you to pop up like a bad fucking smell.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie rubs both hands over his face, smearing tears and messing up his hair. He’s stopped crying, but looks worse than before, like his face doesn’t have a rock bottom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You called me a liar, because I’m married?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m angry at how unfair that is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you think I’m a freak?’ I ask, pushing my soaring anxiety into a challenge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No,’ Richie says, with zero hesitation. ‘I think you’re amazing.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His response catches me off guard, deflating my anger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I haven’t told anyone about this.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You didn’t tell your wife?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t reply, unable to suck in enough air. Richie’s hand is on the back of my neck instantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Just breath Eds, you’re okay.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie stays close, holding my hand still while I pull on my inhaler like a cigarette, knowing it won’t do anything good for my lungs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You can’t tell the others,’ I tell him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I won’t.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie pulls back his hand, letting his fingers linger on my neck. ‘Did you really not know you were gay before?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t fucking laugh.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m not!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I kissed Ben to make sure,’ I say, voice quiet, not sure if I want Richie to hear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What?!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Not like we did.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What did Ben do?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shrug. ‘Nothing. Hugged me. You don’t need to get jealous.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m not.’ Richie pouts and moves away, pressing his back against the car door. ‘You’re sure then?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I think so,’ I say, trying to check Richie out without being obvious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking at him is like a balm across my nerves, until I become annoyed at how attractive he is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His whole neck, shoulder, arms area is large and strong in a way that makes my skin feel tight. I can see a tiny peek of hair above his t-shirt collar and I want to know how far down it goes, and what it looks like. And his stupid fucking mouth, that I spent years wanting to punch to shut him up, but now I want to kiss again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s looking back at me without any of the usual sharpness, open and vulnerable. He’s played his full hand, chips all in on the table, before my cards have been dealt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He instigated this thing between us without any hesitation, after not speaking to me for two decades, because he thinks we’ll get married. Whatever happened at the bottom of his garden must have been pretty fucking spectacular. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike bangs the hood of the car, shattering the moment we were on the cusp of. Richie winds down his window, so Mike can lean in to speak to us. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I need to talk to you both with the others. Will you come back inside?’</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Friday 16th September 2016</span>
</p><p>
  <b>3am</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I’m in the sewer tunnels, below the house on Neibolt street, lost without Richie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was right in front of me, pulling me away from the dead end with the doors. I hear his voice brashly shouting insults, and run towards him. He’s floating in the air, drenched in light, when I find him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a sense of clarity and bravery, that Richie himself bestowed on me, I know exactly what to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fencepost slices through the air and lands exactly where I intend it to. Richie falls, but won’t wake up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I kiss him, and it remains one sided for a long, painful moment, until his hand slides into my hair and he kisses me back. It cements every thought I’ve had about him in the past twenty-four hours. There are no alternate timelines. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We pull back to look at each other. Richie’s blinking softly at me, his glasses skewed across his forehead, throwing me out of focus. I let my feelings tumble out in a laugh of relief, as I rearrange them on his nose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My hand slides away from his face as I’m being moved against my will, pushed by a force I can’t see. A moment later, I’m face down on the ground, searching for Richie again. I find his hand in the dark and we join the others. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <b>8am</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> We’re walking back to the townhouse, our brave and unbreakable group of seven, when Bill decides we should detour to the Barrens. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I haven’t had a moment alone with Eddie since our talk in the car, and my body knows it. I feel on edge, my nerves poking out of my skin, ruffling in the breeze. The weight of the fragile, unspoken thing between us hanging heavy on me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can see Eddie out of the corner of my eye, building up to say something. But he doesn’t speak, just keeps winding and winding, holding out to see if I’ll snap first. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ve got the cuff of his sweater pinched between my fingers, fully aware of how pathetic I look. We dodged a bullet back on Neibolt street. A hundred, claw shaped bullets, and if I let go of Eddie now, I’m petrified he’s going to disappear in front of me, and I’ll never see him again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We reach the edge of the cliff as Bev’s feet leave the ground and she jumps in. The last time I was here with Eddie, we played chicken with the edge of the cliff, and he disappeared in the spot I’m standing on, leaving a pile of my clothes behind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie glances at my hand and pulls his sleeve free, linking our fingers together before I can panic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Together?’ he asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hold his hand in mine, as we follow the others into the water. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Our heads emerge at the same time, in a wave of laughter, only to get drenched again by Stan. I tackle him under the water, while he punches my chest, yelling in a stream of bubbles up to the surface. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie hasn’t moved. He’s treading water, spinning around himself like a confused swan, his neck trying to follow the swirl of red water trailing behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s out of the river and by the rocks in less than a minute, stripping before I can get to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Richie. My back. It’s coming from my back.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I press my palms across his skin, where he’s smooth and unharmed. There’s not a scratch on him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘There’s nothing. You’re good. Eddie, you’re fine.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turns, and I keep my hands pressed to his skin, touching his beautiful, toned, uninjured chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can still see it in the water. A red patch against the grey, that follows us back to the rocks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Whose blood was that?’ I ask. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We look down at his once white t-shirt, now stained across the back, a dull, dark red.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I have no idea,’ Eddie replies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
  
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> Eddie steers me away from the others, when we get back to the townhouse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I need to talk to you and I don’t want to do it drunk,’ he says, taking a seat on the stairs, watching the others file into the bar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sit down next to him, incredibly thankful I can sit on my hands and hide how badly they’re shaking. Eddie shoves me down a few stairs, so he has the height advantage, never one to miss the opportunity to be a petty little bitch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I should have told you about my marriage, that first night in the car,’ Eddie says, placing his hand on my knee. He’s letting me down gently. ‘It’s not where I want to be, I did it for terrible reasons.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Not realizing you’re gay happens to the best of us.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s not that. I wish it was just that. I-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A glass shatters, followed by a roll of yelling and Bill shouting from the bar. ‘Where the fuck is Trashmouth!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He’s busy, fuck off,’ Eddie yells back, to a chorus of booing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leans towards me, a determined look on his face, just like he would at sleepovers, when we went back to trading secrets under the blanket fort after we got rumbled for not being asleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘When I was twenty-six, I had a really scary jump. I went to Derry in winter and I was there for two weeks. I didn’t know it was Derry at the time, just the creepy town I sometimes visited.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That fucking sucks.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie nods and continues. ‘I ended up on Neibolt street a bunch of times. It used to freak me out, but I didn’t know why. I saw us as kids, on our bikes or fighting in the front yard.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s scary, Eds.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I ended up hiding in the basement of this empty house, convinced I was gonna starve, or get frostbite. I was there so long I thought I’d broken something, I was gonna end up stuck there, probably die there, and no-one would know.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shiver, remembering all the missing posters, plastered over each other in a paper mache mound of grief. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can’t believe I’m telling you this,’ Eddie says, tapping the front pocket of his jeans for the inhaler he no longer carries. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Keep going,’ I say, placing my hand over his on my knee, trying not to think too hard about why he’s kept his hand there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘When I got back to New York, it was like I never left. I vanished, for two weeks, and nobody noticed. That scared me more than running for my life, or turning up naked in-front of strangers. I didn’t wanna live like that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I get that,’ I say, squeezing the back of Eddie’s hand, which he flips, so our palms cradle together. My fingers rest against his wrist like this, and I can feel his pulse thumping, remembering I used to measure his heartbeat like this sometimes, when he would visit.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I met Myra, my wife, a month after that, when I was getting help for anxiety. Which is what I have, not allergies or fucking asthma. Do not fucking say it, I know I still use an inhaler.’ </span>
</p><p>
<span>I don’t move for fear of breaking his flow. He takes a deep breath, and looks down at where our hands are joined.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I knew it wasn’t right with her, but it was easy, when nothing else in my life was easy. She was a safety net for all of the crap I was worried about, and it just spiraled.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘She doesn’t know about your Houdini act?’ I ask, making a twirling notion with one finger, a clear indication of how I think time traveling Eddie works.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No,’ he says, hitting me with an adorable eye roll and frown double bill. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We have an understanding. She doesn’t ask questions about why ‘my job’ sometimes needs me at short notice, if I- er- do what she wants when I’m back at home.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I feel my face shift into something dark and complicated. ‘What do you mean, what she wants?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Look. It wasn’t violent. It was like my Mom, like I was sick and she could fix me. She’d make me do bullshit tests and stuff whenever I got back.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tests? What the fuck. So it was super controlling and toxic then?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah,’ Eddie says, thickly. ‘That’s how it’s been for years, but it was better than being alone. I was awful to her too. I gaslit her about why I disappeared all the time, for our whole relationship. It was a two way fucking street.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We look at each other for a long moment. I want to tell Eddie my life is the same, except I really am on my own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Then when Mike called, I remembered everyone,’ Eddie continues. ‘How close we were and what we did that summer. And you. Fuck, Rich, how you always had my back. You never put up with my bullshit, or treated me like I couldn’t do something. I had all these stupid fucking neurosis, and you would just keep poking me until I forgot, so I could have fun.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It was like poking a bee’s nest sometimes, you’d come back at me so fucking sharp.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie screws up his nose, bothered by what I just said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I loved every fucking minute of it, Eds. Worth every savage elbow jab you gave me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You drove me nuts every day, but you me feel so fucking good about myself.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie laughs, a truly beautiful sound. I’ve missed it every day without realizing it, like a muscle ache, so dull you don’t know it’s there until it’s gone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Turns out you know about the one thing I actually do have wrong with me,’ Eddie says. ‘The thing so bizarre and scary I can't tell anyone about, and you’re acting so fucking chilled about it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, well, you’ve always been bananas, Eds. Way before any of this cosmic, freaky shit. And you’ve never been sick. You’re fucking ace. You can time travel, that’s so fucking cool. You’re literally Marty McFly, Eds! You’re like the next step of evolution.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Shut. Up.’ Eddie’s shushing me, his hand flapping in my face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re also the fittest guy I’ve ever seen,’ I say, around the hand he’s clamped over my mouth preemptively. ‘You’ve probably got the cure for herpes locked inside those tight little biceps of yours.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie lets go of me, laughing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s not how medicine works. At all. You could be the fittest person on the planet and you wouldn’t have that shit in your arms. You can’t even cure herpes. I should have known this was coming, you thought I used my dick to time travel.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Only for five seconds!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can’t believe I told all that personal stuff to such a massive bell end.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I bump my head against Eddie’s shoulder as we laugh, and just like that we’re nose to nose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t think I wanna live like that anymore,’ he says, eyes swimming to keep me in focus. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck yeah you don’t.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I try to pull him in for a hug that’s hours overdue, but he stops me, his hands framing my face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I need to talk to you about the other marriage thing,’ he says, leaning back, and taking my stomach with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay,’ I swallow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It seemed like you would be into us, being a thing, if you thought we’d be married, and you kissed me.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod, knowing now is not the time to play coy or make a joke. I’m into us like Eddie’s the love of my life, and if he tells me he’s going back to New York, I’ll never look at LA again.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I want to try that. I think.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘With me?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie huffs, his breath tickling my face. ‘Who else is on the fucking stairs right now? Yes, with you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie looks away, and it feels like I’ve blown this. We were so fucking close, but he’s going to slip away again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know it's a lot, I’m a lot, this whole thing I do is a lot,’ Eddie rambles. ‘I have no idea how it would even work, I’ve only ever hidden it from people. You probably wanna go back to LA and do your thing. We’ll still talk all the time, on the phone and stuff. If you want to. I want to.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t want to go back to LA and just talk to you on the phone. I dunno what you think my life is like, but it’s a mess most of the time. Pretty sure the only person whose noticed I’m gone is my agent. That whole thing you were worried about before your wife, I live that. I don’t have anyone, Eds.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I brought all my documents with me when I left New York.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s placed the bait, and I have another leap of faith in front of me, like the afternoon in the clearing, when I told Eddie I was gay. I have nothing to lose by not asking, only something to gain, which must be why it feels easier this time, even though the fall is deeper. It’s bottomless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You wanna come hang out with me in LA?’ I ask, exhaling and holding my breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Eddie says no, I’m going to crawl into the hole we just made on Neibolt street and stay there until I forget him again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie nods, and our noses brush together again. His eyes are closed, and I want to kiss him now more than I’ve ever wanted to, the bravest person I know. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I rub my thumb against his jaw in invitation, unsure if he wants this, despite all the signs. He tilts down into me, slow and soft, completely different from our last kiss in the restaurant. It’s unhurried and gentle, exactly how I wanted to kiss him on my eighteenth birthday. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not the boy who left me in Derry anymore, or the man that visits me from the future yet, but I know that I love him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s jaw works in a roll against my hand, as he licks into my mouth before pulling back. I whine and try to follow him, as he turns away from me smiling. I kiss his cheek, not sated but content. His lips are wet, and he’s flushed pink and lovely across his cheeks and down his neck, where I want to bury my face and bite him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t want to waste any more time with you, Richie.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I feel the same. I thought for so long we’d find each other again after college, but we’ve lost decades. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fucking same, come back over here.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I kiss the corner of his mouth, over and over, as he turns his head in tiny increments to kiss me back. I want to pull him into my lap and lean back against the stairs, let the sharp press of the wood against my spine, offset the sweetness of Eddie’s mouth, and stay there until our bodies mould together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s got the same idea, pushing me slowly sideways, until we’re interrupted again, by clapping from the bar. We pull apart with a loud smack, Eddie half in my lap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Stop dry humping in public,’ Bill shouts, leaning out of his chair to see us through the doorway, sloshing beer all over his arm in the process.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Stop spying on us,’ Eddie shouts back. ‘Sexual voyeurism is illegal.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m delighted that Eddie’s first reaction wasn’t to deny the dry humping comment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Get in here,’ Bev shouts from behind the bar. ‘Stan’s leaving soon.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I kiss Eddie once more, hard and brief, and hustle him off the stairs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bev slides a whisky glass across the bar for both of us. I down mine, as Eddie elbows me his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eds, have one,’ Bev says, pouring another glass. ‘We’re celebrating.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t drink.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Shots!’ Mike says, in my ear, where he’s snuck up behind me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s angrily eye fucking me into shutting this down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Dude, it’s 9.30am,’ I say, slinging my arm around Mike’s shoulder. ‘I need to drive today.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I flick an eyebrow up in Eddie’s direction to confirm he wants to leave soon. I don’t want to stay in Derry for another night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone’s crowding around us at the bar. They want to talk about it. This thing between me and Eddie, which is as fragile as a motherless baby bird. I want to elbow them all the fuck back, until I have this thing locked down and safe. If anyone tries to integrate us, I’m going to flip the fuck out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stan starts to slow clap, the sound mixing with the two whiskey in my stomach, to obliterate my nerves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Congratulations,’ he says. ‘It only took you forty years.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It was not forty years,’ I counter. ‘Nobody gets together fresh outta the womb, Staniel. It’s been twenty-seven years at best!’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I topple backwards out of my stool to poke Stan in the chest, where he’s hovering behind me, the lean of his body the only thing keeping me upright. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No way you were both that annoying in second grade if you didn’t have a crush on each other,’ Stan replies, poking me back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Who the hell even knows what a crush is during second grade. Be fucking happy for me.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I continue to bother him, nudging his glasses off his face, while he does the same to me. He is happy for me. He’d only ever indulged me like this when he was in a very good mood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike steps in to break us up, stealing both of our glasses and rendering me useless, while Bev gets her arm across the bar, trying to tickle me, but mostly elbowing me in the face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I grapple for Eddie, needing backup, but he’s paying me no attention, too busy talking with Ben. He’s blurry, and I can’t tell what kind of conversation they’re having, but if there’s one fucker I can trust to treat this situation with respect, it’s Ben.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So much has changed in the past thirty-six hours, but this is still the same. When the seven of us are together, we’re an immovable force. We see through all the bullshit, because we know what’s underneath. Stan knew I’d be bricking myself about what they all watched happen on the stairs with Eddie, and he offered himself up as a distraction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Mike, I swear to god I can’t see shit. Gimme those things back,’ I say, pawing the back of Eddie’s head, so he’ll divert his attention back where it’s needed.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Before anyone hurts themselves, or gets us removed from Maine county for fighting, I propose a toast,’ Bev says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone stops and looks at her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘To Eddie and Richie, lovers at last,’ she cackles.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I almost spit my fresh whisky across the bar at how suggestive that sounds, until the significance of that specific word registers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thanks,’ I swallow. ‘Haven’t made an honest man of Eds yet, but that means a lot.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie slaps me across the chest, looking pleased. ‘Were we that obvious?’ he asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I know what a stupid question that is, even before everyone starts speaking at once, in incredulous agreement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sorry,’ I lean over to whisper into Eddie’s ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t be,’ he says back. ‘They’re talking about both of us.’ He kisses behind my ear, right in front of Bev’s face, twisting back away from me, yelling at everyone to shut up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s clear to me in that moment that we probably are going to be lovers before the end of the day, if Eddie’s kissing me sexy and confident like that in front of our friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I thought I’d be the one steering this ship, at least in the beginning. I’d finally be the one with all the knowledge about how this thing between us works, the one who's seen a glimpse of the future. But I know, deep down, that’s not how things work with Eddie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Bill are you filming this?’ Eddie says, peering around behind me, where Bill’s been leaning on the bar with his phone out, since the slap fight with Stan started.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I swear, I will hire Russia to fake half a million terrible book reviews for you, and you’ll never sell another book, if you don’t put that fucking phone down,’ Eddie says, launching across the bar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can you do that anyway Eddie?’ Bev says. ‘I’d love to not have to worry about anymore of Bill’s books.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Guys, what the fuck?’ Bill says, reluctantly putting his phone down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I like Bill’s books,’ Stan says, as we all turn to look at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Stan, come on man,’ Ben replies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Wow. Chewed out by Ben, ouch Stan,’ I say, laughing and poking him again in the leg, out of view from Mike and Bev. Eddie spots it and grabs my finger, in the best possible outcome. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘As much as love being roasted just for existing,’ Stan says, holding his hands up in surrender. ‘And as much as I really don’t want to leave you all, I have to start driving to the airport.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why are you leaving so quickly?’ Mike asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t want to stay in this town longer than I have to. I need to see my wife.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m staying for a bit,’ Bill says. ‘To help Mike.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike smiles, the worry lines clouding his face smoothing out. ‘I’m going to travel.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Florida, right?’ Eddie asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Maybe.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Come see me in LA, man,’ I offer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck yeah. Eds is coming with me.’ I pull him in under my arm, so his legs swing off the bottom of the bar stool. ‘Gonna get some sun on that cute little face, aye Eds.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t want a fucking melanoma.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You coming to the airport?’ Stan asks us.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, we haven’t booked flights,’ Eddie replies, shivering. ‘No way in hell I’m getting on a plane without showering.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We’ll come with you Stan,’ Ben says, signaling to Bev. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, holy shit. You two. Talk about long overdue,’ I say, blowing a kiss to Bev, which she catches and flicks back to me with a wink.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She comes out from behind the bar, so we can crowd together into a hug. I hold Eddie close to me, his hoodie in my fist, and he holds me right back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We promise to keep in touch, trusting that we did what was needed and we’ll remember each other when we leave. We don’t make a pact this time, but the commitment stands all the same.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie: </b>
  <span>Eddie’s eye fucking me again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s on the other side of the room, leaning against the door he’s just locked, with a deafening click. I was dragged up the stairs as soon as the others left, pushed across Eddie’s room to perch on the edge of the bed, while he checked the coast was clear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I need to kiss him for a month straight to be ready for where this is heading, but there’s no way I’m telling him to slow down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You wanna come over here?’ I ask, when he doesn’t move. ‘We don’t have to do anything. You’re just- over there,’ I finish awkwardly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I need to do something,’ Eddie says, walking over. He climbs into my lap, peeling off his shirt in one glorious, fluid motion and looping his arms around my shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can't fucking think straight,’ he says, as I slot my thumbs into the dip where his back meets his ass. ‘I need- fuck. I can’t believe I haven’t disappeared already. After everything that’s happened.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you about to go? Should we do some breathing exercises or something?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie drops his face into my cheek, and shakes laughing. I hold him against me, confused about what's happening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You fucking dickhead, don’t laugh,’ I say. ‘Tell me what helps you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie disappearing right now is unacceptable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Running. And wanking.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Wanking? Holy fuck. You do have a weird dick thing.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I have a high libido. It’s not weird.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What’s your metric for high?’ I ask, both excited and terrified. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie smooths his hands across my jaw to tilt my head back, so I can look at him. It’s a very nice view, his face close and angled above me, all of his attention focused on me, laser sharp and making my blood throb with want. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Twice a day.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I whimper, hoping this is a signal that Eddie’s going to be handful in bed, just like he is the rest of the time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Guessing you haven’t hit your quota while we’ve been down in the sewers. You pretty keyed up?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie nuzzles into my neck, nodding. ‘Please don’t laugh. I’ve never done this with someone I like before.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Me fucking either, I want to tell him, but that seems way too morose for both of us to admit at once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Having sex will help?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If I have an orgasm. It’s like a reset,’ Eddie says, shuffling his hips down, so they sit flush with mine. ‘The only good thing my body has ever given me is orgasms.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I extend my neck upwards, and we’re kissing, hungry and deep, before either of us can overthink this. Orgasms I can help with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie squirms in my lap as he licks into my mouth, and it's intoxicating. I've got my hands all over his back, mapping out the sharp lines of his shoulder blades, when he jolts forwards, tumbling us both backwards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You wanna make good on all that dry humping everyone thinks we’ve been doing?’ I ask him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No. Fuck. You’re distracting,’ Eddie bitches, climbing off me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Me? I’m distracting? I’m not even doing anything. You’re the one eye fucking my skull out its socket and climbing into my lap.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s across the room and flicking on the bathroom fan. ‘I need to shower.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We just went swimming.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘In greywater. In shit water, Richie. I’m not cross contaminating my dick with that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Pretty sure your dick went in the water with the rest of you.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Will you shut up and get in here. I’ve been hard for two days and my dick fucking hurts.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s stripped by the time I get in the bathroom, and I get my first good look at him. He’s tight and muscled, just like I remember. Toned and fit, so fucking fit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’ve been thinking about this for two days?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie steps into the water, grabbing the front of my shirt from around the shower curtain, shaking me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Take this off, it’s so fucking ugly.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I fling all of my clothes out into the bedroom, wanting them as far away from Eddie as possible, if he’s about to let me touch him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How do you want me?’ I ask, climbing into the tub, as Eddie rinses the shampoo out of his hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t know.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I make the call, pulling him flush against me, his back to my front, so I can put my hands all over him and he can watch. I kiss the back of his neck, making him moan, really fucking loudly. We look at each other in shock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Like this. This is good.’ he says.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hmm.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I run my hands down his pecs, towards his stomach. He’s holding my forearms, in control and guiding the path. It’s hot. Boy of my dreams, turned into the man of my dreams, held from all sides by my body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hook my head over his shoulder and we both watch my hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What do we have here?’ I ask, rubbing my thumbs over his abs, toned but barely there. Less defined than I remember seeing them, but very nice. I really hope he ends up toning them with years and years of sex with me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If you even think of teasing me, I’ll kill you,’ Eddie says, digging his fingernails into my arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s a hate crime.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You not touching my dick is a hate crime.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie wasn’t joking about being keyed up. I’m very pleased that none of his rough edges have been smoothed out because he’s turned on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I run both of my hands in quick succession up his dick from root to tip, and he moans again in that same, absolutely filthy way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Huuh, again,’ he pants. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I oblige, then gently pull his sac away from his body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, Richie.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hearing Eddie moan my name, makes my head spin. I’ve got both hands back on his cock, one pulling along the length, the other twisting slowly over the head. He’s long, and hard, and very responsive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s also got a lot of foreskin. It ruffles up to cover him, and down again to expose his glossy, dark head with every twist of my hand. It’s gorgeous and I’m instantly obsessed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s attached to me, you know,’ Eddie huffs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hmm, I noticed. That’s why I like it. It’s fucking pretty, yeah.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie rolls his hips to hurry me along, like he can’t get enough sensation all at once. His dick is beautiful in a way I’ve never been able to appreciate before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I only got a good look at it once. When I deliberately left him without any clothes on one of the visits, and he came swearing into the clearing, slapping me off the log, and shouting about how unsafe it was. I didn’t mind the sting of his hand, I knew what I wanted to accomplish and I had my eyes on the prize for a clear three seconds. His soft, gorgeous cock became the centerpiece of my wanking memory bank after that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tighter and slower,’ he tells me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah? Whatever you want, Eds. Just tell me.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m kissing his neck in-between words, but that’s not where he wants me. He tilts my head around, gripping the back of my neck, so we’re kissing again. It’s so hot I lose my rhythm, and he whines into my mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie bites my lip, panting against my mouth, as he tenses in my arms, coming all over my hands and himself. He makes such a racket I can feel it rattling my bones. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eds, you okay?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods and pulls my hands away from his cock, putting them back on his stomach. He’s rubbing up and down my forearms, ruffling the hair there, and smiling into my neck as he recovers, so I hold him. My cock is hard as hell against his tailbone, where the water has made him hot and slippery.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie pinches my bicep. I’ve been away in my head, face down in his hair, chewing myself out for missing his face while he came, too busy looking at his dick. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie turns, pulling out of my arms, and pressing his back against the shower wall next to me. I step forward into the spray while he watches. I’m incredibly nervous he’s going to slowly back his way out the bathroom now that he’s seen me like this, and change his mind about the whole thing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stroke myself, peeking over to check he’s still watching. Eddie’s tongue laps out to wet his lips while he looks at me, his hand going back to stroking my forearm, my muscles flexing against his fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That was hot. Eddie, you’re so hot.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shakes his head, eyebrows creasing in denial, his hand edging closer to mine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If you touch me, I’m gonna blow. Just so we’re on the same page here.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie rubs his thumb under the head of my prick, and I jerk forwards, biting my lip to stop myself from making an embarrassing noise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can’t believe you weren’t joking about having a big dick all those years,’ he says, pupils still blown. ‘That’s fucking insufferable.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘The one thing I never joked about.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie holds his hand over the head of my dick, rubbing his thumb in a slow circle, while I stroke myself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Wanna watch you come,’ he says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m gonna.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I look back at Eddie’s face, still flushed, lip between his teeth, and that’s what tips me over the edge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulls his hand away as soon as I finish, turning off the spray when my stomach is clean. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We catch each other's eye and laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You feel better?’ I ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I feel great,’ Eddie replies, trailing his hand across my stomach, as he climbs out of the tub and reaches for a towel, leaving me stunned, in a cloud of steam of my own making. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> Richie’s heartbeat is soft and steady underneath my ear, my head rising and falling every time he breathes. His hand has stopped stroking through my hair, so I think he’s fallen asleep. I’m draped over him in bed, content for possibly the first time while in Derry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can’t get over how masculine he is. Broad and tall, there’s so fucking much of him, all hard and soft at the same time, and covered in hair that I can’t stop touching. I’m trying not to think about his ridiculously nice hands, which made me lose my mind when they touched my back after I climbed into his lap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I feel relaxed in a way I rarely do. Richie’s hands resting in my hair and over my shoulder, doing as much to keep me grounded in my body as the orgasm. Sex has never been that good or easy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eds, you awake?’ Richie asks softly, smoothing the hair back from my forehead as I look up at him. ‘You wanna leave later? I can book flights.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I prop myself up on his chest. ‘I can’t fly,’ I answer. Richie looks shocked, like I’ve just told him money doesn’t exist. ‘If I disappear at thirty thousand feet, I’ll fall out of the sky and fucking die.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh. Right, yeah. God yeah,’ he says, stroking my jaw with his index finger. ‘How did you get here then?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Bus.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You didn’t drive?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If I disappear while driving, the car keeps going.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Shit. Okay. Got it, no driving. You took the bus though? Buses smell.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know they smell, I was on one for ten fucking hours, and then I got mauled on a restaurant table by someone covered in plane sweat.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That was just regular old car sweat, Richie says, smiling. ‘You fucking liked it though.’ He’s not entirely convinced I’m going to agree with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah.’ I lean in. ‘I did. You book a flight and I’ll meet you in a couple of days.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘And take the bus? You can’t take the bus to LA. I’ll drive us. Road trip!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, no road trip. We are not stopping every thirty minutes so you can buy novelty sunglasses.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I buy novelty shirts, thank you very much, and we are absolutely making the most of this if we’re driving across country.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We probably are gonna have to stop a lot. I’m not good in confined spaces.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We’re gonna be stopping every thirty minutes, sometimes to buy novelty shirts, but mostly so I can make out with you. Speaking of that, can you come back down here?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Maybe,’ I say, collapsing into him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m learning that Richie is a very good kisser. He uses his whole body, not just his mouth, giving it his full attention. I can tell he likes it a lot. I’m trying to deepen the kiss, but he’s keeping his lips closed, mouthing against me firm and wet, in a long, slow tease. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hands are all over me again. Trailing up and down my back and across my shoulders, and cupping over my entire ass, they’re so big. He’s rubbing circles into my lower back with his thumbs, as my toes curl against the sheets. I can’t tell if it's his hands, or his tongue finally licking into my mouth that’s setting me off again. I start circling my hips a little into his stomach, and he pulls back giggling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You wanna go again?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Kind of.’ I grin sheepishly, and he grins back. ‘I think I need to sleep though.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah. I probably can’t drive after three whiskeys and no sleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We should leave when we wake up. I don’t want to spend another night in Derry.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lay back down against Richie’s chest and let his arms close around me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep like this, so close to another person, when I normally sleep alone. Richie kisses the top of my head, and I feel him smiling against my hairline. I tuck my hands underneath his back and close my eyes, not wanting to move, even if it means I won’t get much rest. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Saturday 17th September 2016</span>
</p><p>
  <b>8am</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span>I wake to the sound of a door closing. I stretch in bed, squinting at the unfamiliar room, feeling like a bear waking up from hibernation, unsure of where I am and groggy as fuck. There’s sunlight streaming in from underneath the curtains, just like when I went to sleep. I’m still in Derry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We slept for twenty hours,’ Eddie says. He’s leaning against the door frame, looking at me with the same expression from last night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sit up, and Eddie watches the duvet slide down over my bare chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We were gonna leave yesterday.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie shrugs in response. He’s wearing running sneakers, a royal blue hoodie and skin tight black leggings, which make his calves look incredible. He shakes down the hood, his hair plastered to his head with sweat. I can smell him from across the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Good run?’ I ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Couldn’t stop thinking about you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lust rockets through me, waking me up like a shot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Was thinking about you too,’ I lie, knowing it would be true if I’d been awake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Bullshit, you were asleep.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Was dreaming.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie pushes off from the door, hooking the hoodie up and over his head, as he walks towards me. It’s a very sexy, subtle striptease, that I’m not sure he intended, but I appreciate nevertheless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ I say, sitting up properly, holding out my hands for Eddie’s hips to slot neatly into as he leans down to kiss me.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kiss is chaste, but long. I try my luck, licking along the seam of Eddie’s mouth, picking up the sweat on his upper lip while I’m there. Delicious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Get off me a second,’ Eddie says, laughing. ‘I have to shower.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lean forwards as he turns away, sucking a nipple into my mouth. He tastes so good I feel lightheaded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why are you so obsessed with showering,’ I say, licking across his chest towards the other nipple. Eddie’s hand wraps across my shoulders to hold me in place, the urge to shower momentarily forgotten.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ew, are you licking my sweat? No, gross.’ Eddie pushes my head away. ‘Let me- no, get off, let me shower first.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I scramble down the bed after him. ‘What’s the point in showering to get sweaty again? Babe, come on. I like it. Come back to bed, sweaty Eddie,’ I grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That is not a thing,’ he points.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It could be,’ I say, sitting on the edge of the bed, scooping him back into my arms. ‘I’ll moan it when I come if you get back in bed.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do not,’ Eddie says, looking down at me thunderous. I stare back and start to kiss along his ribs, hoping I can reach my nose up into his armpit at this angle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s stroking my shoulders again, while I thoroughly enjoy myself kissing his stomach, doing my best to rough up the soft trail of hair leading down his body with my tongue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only sound in the room is his breathy little huffs, and the sound of my mouth making love to his skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m working my way towards tugging the leggings down and pulling his cock out, so I can slide him into my mouth. Standing in front of me like this, Eddie could hold my head and fuck my mouth, or I could hold his hips still and suck him until his knees gave out. I press my face to his belly, overwhelmed, thinking about the taste of his cock, probably covered in it’s own layer of sweat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You taste so good, Eds.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I swivel him round to face me, pulling the waistband of his leggings down at the back, to reveal the swell of his ass to my hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Love this,’ I say, stroking over the lush curve of his backside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Stop tasting me,’ Eddie says, pressing into my hands, and scowling down at my tongue, which has been making a path towards his navel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can I blow you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie whines, looking towards the ceiling. ‘I er- don’t think we can do that. Without protection.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m a colossal dipshit. Of all the people to be flippant about prophylactics with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay, yeah,’ I say, embarrassed. ‘Raincheck on that.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie nods, shoving me up the bed, toe-ing off his shoes and finishing the job I started with the leggings. He gets half way up the vee of my legs, before I flip him onto his back and nudge his legs apart with my knees. I drop my hips down to grind against him, slow and dirty, and we both moan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Wait, wait, Rich, stop a second.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s elbowing me away from my new home in the crease of his neck, to cover his face with his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sorry, I just. Can I just-’ he says, pushing me over to the side and off him, as he crawls out, sitting in the middle of the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We can slow this down,’ I say, trying to stay calm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s not that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie pulls a hand away from his face looking back at me, all ruffled and cute.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sorry,’ he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t be sorry. Please don’t be sorry.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you have any rubbers?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘My bags in the other room, but pretty sure I don’t.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We shouldn’t have done that last night,’ he says, chewing his lip.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah. Shit.’ I scrub my hand over my face. ‘I don’t wanna downplay what you’re saying, but we’re probably okay. With the water and everything. We’ll get some though.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie nods, but I can tell he’s not convinced by my reasoning, which is fair. He’s concerned about this in a way I’m too jaded to be. I got tested after my current dry spell started, but he doesn’t know that, and it was long enough ago that I probably can’t give him definitive reassurance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What the fuck do we do now?’ Eddie asks, gesturing down at himself and across the bed at me, where we’re both very ready to roll. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stack up the pillows at the head of the bed and stretch back into them, hooking my foot around his back, and tugging him forwards between my legs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Not gonna touch you,’ I say, watching his face turn from worry to intrigue. ‘Just gonna watch. Mr twice a day.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I put my hand on myself and Eddie follows, stroking himself firm and slow. I copy his rhythm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We’re buying rubbers,’ Eddie says, his eyelids fluttering open and closed in a continuous loop, not straying from me, as he swings up onto his knees, over one of my legs, and rocks into his fist, letting his foreskin ruffle up and down with every thrust, like I was doing yesterday. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck yeah we are,’ I say, rubbing my feet across the back of his thighs. ‘Can’t wait to touch you again.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s leaking, a lot. Gathering it up in his fist and rolling it back down to slick his prick. I want all of it in my mouth, so it coats my tongue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Want your hands again,’ he says, huffing. ‘Stupid big hands, like your stupid big dick.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What else is stupid?’ I ask, amazed that he’s complimenting me so openly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Your chest. Fucking dumb. Dumb, stupid arms, Richie, and your dumb stupid mouth.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie grips my knee with a sticky palm before I can reply, and leans back, coming all over himself, painting his stomach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He holds his palm up in the universal stop signal, as my hand speeds up, and I think for a second he’s presenting it up so I can lick him clean. I want to, protection or not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Wanna watch you,’ he says, head tilted back, eyes still closed. The silhouette of his Adam's apple, sinking and rising on his throat, sets my teeth on edge, making my self resolve balk, and I struggle to keep my hand still. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie giggles and opens his eyes, and I can’t hold back any longer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What do you wanna watch me do?’ I ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Come,’ he replies, teasing his hands up and down my thighs, pushing my knees open further, while he watches my dick. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Like yesterday?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah. What are you thinking about?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I laugh at his ridiculous question. ‘You. Just now. Looking at me and blowing your load. Could never touch you again and be set for life.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re touching me again. Later.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie takes the hand I’ve been using to circle the bottom of my cock away, and wipes it with his running shirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Touch me now,’ he says, placing it over his ass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I fondle him and come, as he jolts forward, moaning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s leaning down, his arms on either side of me, when I can process again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey,’ he says, dropping down to kiss me. He hums into my mouth, all content and lovely, as he plays with my bottom lip. I rub my clean hand up and down his spine and he presses down against me, sounding like he’s on the cusp of another orgasm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You okay there, Eds?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah’ he answers, dazed. ‘I just feel good. Sorry, I’m being weird.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lucky for us I love his weird. All day, every day, balls deep in Eddie’s weird shit is where I want to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Be weird all you want, if you can talk me off like that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I start licking down his neck, drinking in the layer of sweat he’s still wearing. I’m ready to wipe myself off properly with the come shirt, and pull him back under the covers with me for a good hour of morning spooning, but Eddie’s got other plans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fucking. Stop that. I’m covered in come, and sweat, and god knows what other grimy shit from the bed. Why did you let me just do that without showering?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie sits up, gesturing down my body and the bed, like it’s some gory crime scene, and not the evidence of some stellar morning sex, which is how it looks to me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why did I make you feel so good you couldn’t speak before?’ I shout down the bed as he disappears into the bathroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do not follow me in here, we need expediency and I do not trust you to keep your hands to yourself.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You were just putting my hands on you, you whiny little fuck.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I push open the bathroom door, as Eddie climbs into the tub, finding time to flick me hard across the chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hardly my fault anyway,’ I say. ‘Have you seen yourself? You’re a snack.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie sticks his head out from behind the shower curtain. ‘What did you just call me?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I bop his nose and he scowls back out of view. ‘A snack. A delicious. Creamy. Twinkie.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m laughing before I finish speaking, and bracing myself. Eddie’s out of the shower in a flash, water everywhere, pushing me out of the bathroom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Get out, asshole. Pack your stuff, please. I want to leave this fucking shithole. Google us somewhere to stay tonight that we can drive to by 6pm. And somewhere we can get coffee before we leave.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s back in the shower, scrubbing himself raw before I can answer. Not that I can speak. A smile the size of a planet is currently sitting on my face. I peer around the curtain and catch Eddie smiling too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I look at myself in the mirror above the sink, and the man I recognize stares back at me. There’s nothing weird with my face, nothing melting off or distorted. I open and close the cupboard door, to check there’s no-one lurking in the blind spot behind me. This isn’t an illusion, or a trick. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is real. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Warnings: vomiting, blood, discussions about an unhealthy marriage, discussions about safe sex, infidelity</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>I’m in the car with Richie. He’s been talking in a Boston accent for the past two hours, ever since we passed the border into Massachusetts. He must have spent the past two decades practicing, because he’s a lot better at it than I remember. I’m pretending to be more annoyed by it than I actually am, so he’ll keep doing it. It’s a great distraction from the turn off to New York, which is fast approaching. </p><p>Richie asked me at lunch if I wanted to detour home to pick anything up. I said no, but now I’m second guessing myself. What we’re doing is fucking insane. </p><p>‘Last chance Eds, turn off is coming up,’ Richie says, squeezing my knee. </p><p>He’s already in the turn off lane, like he can mind-read my meltdown. I feel melded to the leather seat, unable to move or speak, a passenger in this decision, just like every other important milestone in my life.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>'E' rating is for Chapter 4 onwards, so this chapter is rated 'E'</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Saturday 17th September 2016 (Richie is 40, Eddie is 40) </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I’m in the car with Richie. He’s been talking in a Boston accent for the past two hours, ever since we passed the border into Massachusetts. He must have spent the past two decades practicing, because he’s a lot better at it than I remember. I’m pretending to be more annoyed by it than I actually am, so he’ll keep doing it. It’s a great distraction from the turn off to New York, which is fast approaching. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie asked me at lunch if I wanted to detour home to pick anything up. I said no, but now I’m second guessing myself. What we’re doing is fucking insane. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Last chance Eds, turn off is coming up,’ Richie says, squeezing my knee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s already in the turn off lane, like he can mind-read my meltdown. I feel melded to the leather seat, unable to move or speak, a passenger in this decision, just like every other important milestone in my life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie takes the turn, and I rage internally that he’s made the decision for me. He turns again, pulling off the main road and into a coffee house parking lot. I’m out of the car as soon as the engine stops, pacing back and forth, but wanting to run. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie leans over the hood of the car, tongue in the side of his cheek. ‘I’m getting coffee, you want one?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wave him off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Come get me when you wanna talk, yeah?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He walks away, shoulders low and hunched as he enters the cafe, sitting in the window where I can see him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sit in the car, legs hanging out the door, swaying between a decision. I didn’t have to say anything, but Richie knew exactly what I needed. Some space.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He seems so fucking sure about sweeping me into his life, like this is a simple decision. He mustn’t know how disruptive time travel can be, or he wouldn’t want to do this. It’s not tidy and controlled, I don’t get a book of dates scheduling my disappearances, it’s like being on a constant tornado watch, knowing there’s nowhere to shelter when the alarm sounds. That all you can do is try and land safely when the wind stops. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe it’s easier for him, my visits have given him evidence of the future we’re driving towards. I’ve been racking my brain all day, trying to find a trace of Richie during the handful of times I’ve found myself in LA, but I keep coming up blank. I could never figure out why my body had spat me out there before, but now I know. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’d be a coward going back to New York, after everything I’ve learnt about myself. I’m only entertaining the idea because it would be easy. Running away has always felt like the easiest option, but I’ve never had something to run towards before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I look over and catch Richie’s eye. He knocks back his coffee and walks over, leaning on the hood of the car again, keeping a barrier between us. He taps the hood, squinting at the sun as he looks away. ‘What's the verdict?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If I go back to New York, what will you do?’ I ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie shrugs, his bottom lip turning upside down. ‘Enjoy the next three hours of you yelling, when people cut me off.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I blink. He’s not going to try and persuade me. He’ll let me go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re not bothered?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Of course I’m bothered, but I’m not gonna pressure you into something.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie cleans his glasses on the bottom of his shirt. I can see, from the sun glinting off the smear marks, that he’s made them worse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You don’t have to decide right now,’ he continues. ‘We can stay here as long as you want. Fuck, I’ll drive you back in three days, or whatever, if you change your mind. It’s not a one time question.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’ll drive me back, if I change my mind midway through butt fuck Iowa?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah. Like I’m gonna miss an opportunity to spend time with you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s my turn to squint into the sun. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I walk around the car, as Richie holds his arm out, tucking me snug against his side. He smells like my shampoo, which is comforting in an unexpected way. He rubs my back and slides his phone into my hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re in charge of the map. I’ll drive you wherever it says.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I roll the phone around in my hand, knowing what I want to do, but hesitating all the same. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Did you find somewhere to stay tonight?’ I ask. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie shrugs. ‘I was gonna drive until you told me to stop.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I roll my eyes and type Los Angeles into the map. We’re forty hours of straight driving away from where we’re going. I hand the phone back and walk across the parking lot towards the cafe, trying to repay the favour and give Richie what he needs.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s in the car when I come back with two coffees, trying to hide how red his face is from crying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes his cup, slotting it between his thighs, and starts the engine. I take the cup back in shock, balancing it inside the cup holder instead of his burnable legs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I go to chew him out about beverage safety, but stop at the guarded look on his face. He nods towards the phone, propped up on the dashboard, displaying the route we’re taking. There’s a little backwards loop we need to take first, to get back on the freeway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tell me when you want to stop?’ Richie asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I will.’</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Sunday 18th September 2016</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> I’m eating lunch with Eddie at a diner near Niagara Falls, running rings around myself, thinking of ways to get Eddie out of his funk. He’s been unusually quiet since we left Maine, but especially today. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We started driving early, after I picked up coffee and bagels, while Eddie ran. I came prepared for a day in the car, slapping a crossword book into his hand before we left, which he’s been methodically working his way through all morning. He hasn’t said anything, but I can tell he’s struggling to finish one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We argued over the detour to Niagara. Eddie wanted to keep driving and get as far away from New York as possible, now he’s made the call to leave. But I’m in no rush. One thing we finally have is time.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stood next to me at the viewing platform for a long time, looking into the water like it was going to manifest itself into a message for him. If he found something out down there, he didn’t share it with me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s staring at his food like it’s insulted him, when I nudge his leg underneath the table. ‘What ya thinking about?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie looks up frowning. ‘Does it bother you that I’m married?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I freeze, a handle of fries mid way between the plate and my mouth. It does, but only because it’s a big fucking obstacle between where we are now and where I want us to be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘A little. Not enough to change what we’re doing. Does it bother you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes. I can’t believe I didn’t ask you this before,’ Eddie leans across the table, lowering his voice. ‘I’m fucking cheating.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Part of me feels like a piece of shit, because I couldn’t care less, but Eddie clearly does care. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We can hold on that stuff, until you sort it out.’ I stuff fries into my face, nervous of the implications. ‘If you can keep it in your pants.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Maybe.’ Eddie taps his top lip with his fingers. ‘I haven’t told her yet, that I’m leaving. Have left.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay. Yeah, that’s- do you wanna call her now?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, no no. I’ll do it when we get to LA.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s days away.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘She’ll think I’ve disappeared on a work thing like all the other times. I really don’t want to have that conversation running through my head in the car.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod. Eddie covers his mouth with his hand, staring into the middle distance beside my head. His ring is missing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I tap his finger and he flinches. ‘Got rid of that already?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Left it in Neibolt,’ Eddie says, laughing tensely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Wow.’ I laugh back at him. ‘That’s a pretty big fuck you to your marriage. Don’t you lose it all the time anyway, when you fuck off into the ether?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s not my actual ring. It’s- look, don’t fucking say anything.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hold up my hands in mock surrender. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t, ugh. I don’t fucking wear a ring. I put on one of my fake ones, because I didn’t want any awkward fucking questions from the group about why I was married but wasn’t wearing a ring.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘There were way more awkward questions because you had one on when I kissed you! I would have kept going if it wasn’t for that. We could have broken that table right off it’s legs.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You would not have done that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You were the one that climbed onto it. You wanna go for round two?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I fucking do not.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lick my lips and Eddie copies me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m gonna ask for a divorce, I think,’ he says. ‘Yeah, no, I am.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I raise my water glass and we toast. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You know, Bev's getting a divorce too.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Huh.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wave my phone at him. ‘You would know this already if you had a phone.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Enough about the phone. Phones are expensive.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie doesn’t own a phone. It’s been the hot topic of the drive so far. I think the risk of losing it when he time travels is a shitty excuse, considering how much money he has. He’s been borrowing mine while I’m driving, but hasn’t seen the latest update from Bev in the group chat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ll concede a truce, for now,’ I say. ‘I’ll get ya though.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What you can get me is some help with the divorce.’ Eddie swallows. ‘If you know anyone.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ll ask around. Gotta get you divorced so you can be my future husband, right?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s the wrong thing to say. Eddie’s entire face panics, as he covers his mouth like he’s retching. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Shit, I’m sorry.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie shakes his head. ‘It’s okay. It’s... just fast. I can’t deal with that idea right now.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m getting ahead of myself.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah. I mean,’ Eddie pauses, rubbing his chin. ‘You don’t want that right now.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My stomach drops and nearly empties itself. I could not be more opposed to that statement. I want to marry Eddie yesterday. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Nah, I like you a lot, but that would be stupid,’ I lie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can we pause on talking about the husband thing for a while?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod, using it as an excuse to hide my face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie points to my plate. ‘You done? Can we go?’ He asks, stealing cold fries from my plate. ’I wanna get some miles behind us today.’ He’s out of the booth before he’s finished speaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Alright, steady on Quicksilver.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m ready for it, catching his middle finger in my fist as it flies up behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sit in the car on my own before we leave, as Eddie paces laps around the parking lot, trying to shake out some tension. He slides into the passenger seat, rolling his shoulders and taking a deep breath. I wait for his signal then start the engine. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Monday 19th September 2016</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> I’m starting to worry about Eddie. He’s looked like a constant flight risk since we got back in the car after lunch. The crossword book has been abandoned, and he hasn’t spoken in the last hour, probably because he’s too busy biting his lower lip to a pulp. His legs are moving so fast they look like hummingbird wings, and he keeps looking at me out of the corner of his eye, like he’s checking for something, but I have no idea what. I’m terrified he’s about to disappear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You okay there, Bert?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie turns towards me, raising his hand like he’s about to karate chop me into next week for comparing him to a muppet, but goes still, just like he did when we passed the New York turn off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you gonna disappear? Eds, should I pull over? What do I do? Do I wait for you? We’re so dumb, why haven’t we talked about this?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Richie, stop.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I signal and start to pull over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, doofus. I meant stop talking.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Too late. I unbuckle, and grasp his arms, like I can stop him from going by clinging onto him. ‘Seriously, you’re vibrating right now.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m wound up.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, no shit.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why is your car so fucking small, you’re the size of a truck.’ Eddie pokes me in the bicep, over the cuff of my shirt sleeve. ‘And this, what is this?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, I know it’s ugly, I didn’t pack for a road trip when I came to Derry. This was the biggest thing they had at that Niagara gift shop, you were there.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s staring at my arm, mad as hell, like it just stole his lunch money. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eds, are you about to go all Sam Beckett on me?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I might, I always might, that’s not the issue here.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I genuinely have no idea what's got his boxer briefs in a twist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tight,’ he says, jaw clenched. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I gape at him. ‘What?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie doubles over, shaking with laughter, poking me again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘The shirt, the fucking shirt. You haven’t even done it up properly. Dipshit.’ Eddie shakes the shirt down over my shoulder, where it’s sitting lopsided. ‘The fuck is this?’ Eddie pokes the bare skin of my shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ow, that’s my- my fucking shoulder bone.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s your clavicle, and I shouldn’t be able to see it, if you’d dressed yourself properly. Jesus.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you seriously flipping out about a shirt right now? I stopped the car.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No! It’s your arm, your fucking arm is five fucking inches from my fucking face, and you’re holding the steering wheel with two hands, even though that’s grossly unnecessary when we’re driving a ruler straight road, and I can see, this motherfucking muscle.’ Eddie pokes me again. ‘Fucking. Flexing. Every time I breathe.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slaps my hands away where I’m re-doing the buttons on my shirt. ‘You’re making it worse.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What is your problem?’ I slap him back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We haven’t had sex in two days,’ he says, as I catch his hands tight between mine and we lock eyes. ‘Because I’ve been panicking about how fucked up my life is. And we’ve both decided to put it right by being impulsive bastards-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eds-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘So my problem, my problem Richie, is that I’ve been two second away from climbing in your lap for hours now, and if I have to spend another fucking minute, sitting in this buttfuck stupid car with you, one of my balls is gonna bust off my body, and I do not wanna detour to A&amp;E to have it stitched back on.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie breaths in hard and stares down at his hands encased in mine. He’s been making eye contact with me that whole spiel, and I’m hard as a rock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Guessing you don’t wanna fuck in the car,’ I say. ‘So you better find us a Motel and give me driving instructions.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I let go of him before my hands start shaking, and pull back onto the road, while Eddie fumbles with the phone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We pull into a Motel ten minutes later, neither of us having spoken a word. Eddie’s jogging off before I can put the car in park. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Where the fuck are you going?’ I shout after him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Pharmacy,’ he yells back, picking up speed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lean on the car, watching him turn a corner, heading towards the middle of town. In terms of meltdowns, that was as good as it gets. I giggle to myself at how absurd that was. I need to shrink some of my shirts, if that’s the reaction I get. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I check in, wobbling across the parking lot, dick tight in my pants, and wait for him back at the car. He power walks back into view a few minutes later, a paper bag under his arm, and it shocks me how relieved I am to see him. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span></span>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I can’t believe I said all of that to Richie’s face. I’m more embarrassed about what I said, than the look I got at the pharmacy, rocking up wide eyed for prophylactics and lube in the middle of the afternoon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s watching me, amused, when I get back to the Motel. I nearly yell at him for wasting time at the car, until I spot the room key looped around his finger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What's the big rush Eds?’ he asks, hip cocked and tongue swagging. ‘You about to get laid or something?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tries to peer into the bag, as I pluck the room key from his finger and pull him across the parking lot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can you hustle so we can get back on the road?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey hey hey now, this isn’t a race. I know you’re a horny bastard, but... Wow. How many condoms did you buy?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Keep your voice down. There are two dicks here remember.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hustle us inside the room and shut the door, as Richie wraps an infuriatingly long arm around me, and we tumble towards the bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, but fifty’s a lot.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I climb over him, pressing him into the mattress and dipping down to lick his mouth open and shut him up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie gropes across my hips as we make out. He’s so fucking good with his hands, my knees feel like they’re about to give out, like the unstable supports of the clubhouse, when he pushes my shirt up, touching my back. Every time I look at his hands, I want them on me. It’s hardly my fault I lost my shit in the car. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie kisses down my jaw, biting my chin, and I chase his mouth, not done with kissing yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You wanna cash in that rain check?’ He asks, pulling my hips against his in a grind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I close my eyes, knowing exactly what he’s talking about. He wants to blow me. I want that too, but I hesitate, climbing back to stand at the side of the bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Is this a ‘please for the love of god, stop asking me if I want a blow job Richie, I’m just not into it’ type of situation, or something else?’ he asks, sitting in front of me rubbing the backs of my knees gently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can you not use that word. Blow job.’ I feel sick saying it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, I don’t have to use it.’ Richie lifts up my shirt, tucking his head against my stomach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We can do that,’ I say, laughing, harsh like a bark. ‘You’re so good at kissing, and your mouth on me. I- yeah, I wanna do it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s a compliment and a half,’ Richie says, nosing around my belly. ‘Haven’t even done it yet.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I tug my shirt off so I can see him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You good at it?’ I ask, stroking his hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie laughs, tucking both hands into the back of my jeans, holding me close. ‘I like doing it. You’ll have to tell me if I’m good at it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We stay like that for a while. I feel so much calmer already, just being close to him like this. Walking the edge of arousal without indulging it. Richie’s right, we don’t have to rush.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can I say suck you?’ He asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can I suck you off?’ Richie kisses up and down my ribcage, waiting for an answer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Shouldn’t I be asking you to do that?’ I press forward against Richie’s mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You can. I’ll do whatever you want.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I want that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, I can suck you, let me suck you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay,’ I say, trying to sound in control. I feel seconds away from making a mess of my pants. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie leans up, kissing me on the mouth quickly, unbuttoning my jeans as he sits back down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Jesus, have you been going around commando?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My shoes are still on, and I feel filthy as the jeans pool around my feet. ‘Underwear is just another thing to lose when I time travel.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s fucking sexy. Yeah, wow. You wanna do it like this?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s the perfect height to pull me into his mouth, while I watch. I flick my shoes off behind me and curl my toes against the grainy carpet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You like it?’ I ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, I get all this prime real estate to touch.’ He runs both hands up the back of my legs to the dip of my lower back, and back around the front of my thighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m not gonna last thirty seconds if you do that again.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie rests his chin on my hip bone, looking up at me. ‘You better last longer, waited for this.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pull at the sleeve of his shirt. ‘Take this off.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Think I should keep it on, seeing how much you like it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t wanna be naked on my own,’ I gasp, as Richie rubs his thumb back and forth over the crease between my ass and thigh, making my prick bob very close to his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leans back, swearing when the shirt gets stuck sliding off his shoulders, pulling everything off in a flurry of limbs, before rolling back into position, gloriously naked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shakes the condom box in my face, pulls one out and rolls it on me, stroking me nice and slow a couple of times, nudging my hips with a hand on my lower back to rock into his fist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Wish I could do this without one of these, wanna taste you, you know.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why are you always tasting me. I’m not a degustation menu.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hmm, yes you are. You look ready to roll Eds, are you ready? Thinking you want the number one hit version of this, rather than a tour through the greatest hits.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I have no idea what you just said. What is my dick supposed to be, the turntable at your wedding DJ set?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie laughs, blowing accidental raspberries against my skin, where he’s been making out with my stomach while we talk. I push his head away, and he play bites my fingers, before I let him go back to kissing me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Means I’m gonna get you off, no messing around.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I tilt his head back, to scratch through the hair at the nape of his neck. ‘Okay, do that.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie settles his hands on my hips, rubbing my hips with his thumbs and wetting his lips, before sliding me into his mouth, and closing his eyes. I watch his eyelashes flutter against his cheek, as his mouth sinks halfway down my cock, and he starts to suck, hard and slow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s amazing. I buck forwards, up onto my tip-toes and Richie drags me straight back down. I grip his shoulders as he bobs his head, sucking lighter and lighter, until he’s got just my tip in his mouth. He holds me there, licking over and around the head a couple of times, then sucks my tip hard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck. You prick.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I rub over the fingernail marks I’ve left in his skin, as he pulls off giggling. I try and follow his mouth, tripping on his feet as I lurch forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Put your hands in my hair,’ Richie says, manhandling me back in position, sucking kisses along the underside of my cock as he speaks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Really?’ I push some of the saliva running down his chin back into his mouth with my finger. His eyes slam shut, mouth blinding chasing my hand when I pull away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, tug my hair.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I swallow and slide my sticky fingers into the hair at the back of his head, as Richie pulls me back into his mouth. I tug with one hand, gently stroking the back of his neck with the other, and he moans around me. It starts a cascading feedback loop of tugging and moaning, which ends with me being dragged back down off my tip-toes. We stay like that, my cock leaking inside the rubber, hard as hell, until I can’t look at him anymore without feeling lightheaded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I slide my hands around Richie’s jaw, holding his chin hard so he’ll look up at me. His eyes are blown, face relaxed and blissful from having my cock in his mouth. It sends a pulse of something heady through me, from how intoxicated he looks just from touching me. He tilts his head in my hand, so I can feel myself though his cheek. Our eyes meet and I’m coming, my prick still in his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I have no recollection of how I end up face first on the bed. Richie’s next to me, lightly drawing patterns over my back. I turn towards him and he kisses me softly. He’s curled around me, hair a mess, his face still flushed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I brushed my teeth, if you wanna make out.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What happened to your dick,’ I ask, looking at it, soft between Richie’s thighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Touched myself as soon as you got your hands in my hair. I gotta tell you Eds, that was the hottest sucking this face has ever done.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I look away, embarrassed I didn’t reciprocate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie keeps stroking my back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Am I doing enough?’ I ask, into the empty side of the room. ‘You do all this stuff for me, and I just kind of... benefit. Aren’t you mad I didn’t do it back?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I didn’t do that so you’d do it back.’ Richie leans over, trying to look at me. ‘Holy shit, you have no idea how much I wanted to do that. I know you saw my face, you don’t think I was having the time of my life?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t you want me to touch you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can you roll over,’ Richie asks, rubbing my shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie tangles our legs together, as soon as I’m facing him, and I know instantly what a massive idiot I am, when I see how softly he’s looking back at me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t take this the wrong way, Eds, but I am amazed you are worse at this than me.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I close my eyes and roll into Richie’s neck, wanting this conversation over. He pushes me back gently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Nope, looking at you right now.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ugh.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do I look dissatisfied to you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No.’ Richie looks the smuggest I’ve seen him since the Autumn of 1991. The day he beat me at every game in the arcade in a clean sweep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Because I feel like a lucky son of a bitch.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Alright, I get it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I want you to touch me, all the fucking time. But I got so hot touching you back then, I couldn’t help myself. That was on me, not you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You can stop now.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You almost made me come from touching my hair. I’m screwed if you ever touch my dick again,’ he says, rubbing our noses together. ‘That was self preservation.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, please stop.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t wanna stop. Like you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Richie.’ I pinch his chin. ‘Shouldn’t we get back on the road?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You wanna get back in the car right now?’ Richie presses my leg tight between his, deeming me a flight risk. ‘Because I don’t.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What are we doing if we’re not getting back in the car?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Well, what I wanna do, completely selfishly of course, is cuddle the shit out of you. Because I think I just made you feel so good you passed out, and that made me feel so good I cried. You missed that, by the way, because you were in a dick sucking coma.’ Richie runs his thumb down my face, from my hairline to my chin, where it feels upside down. ‘It was a good cry, I enjoyed it very much.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I roll Richie onto his back, throwing my leg over his hip and curling around him and under his arm, which goes back to rubbing shapes into my skin. ‘Like this?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Perfect. You’re a genius Eds. I know what we just did was good with a capital ‘G’, but this-’ Richie squeezes me, kissing along my hairline in a flurry. ‘This is the really good shit. If you hadn’t interrupted, talking about getting in the fucking car, you would have found that out.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What are you talking about?’ I take a leaf out of Richie’s book, kissing across his chest, tasting his skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t care how we fuck. I could suck you like that and bring myself off, while you pass out to put your brain back together, everyday of my life. But this bit afterwards is non negotiable. You wanna do something for me, it’s this.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I look up, expecting Richie to be looking back at me, but he’s not. His eyes are closed, a satisfied smile playing across his lips, like his favourite song just came on the radio. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You want me to cuddle you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes, I do.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I kiss him in the middle of his chest, feeling the subsequent shiver travel across his shoulders and down his arms. This feels like the easiest thing in the world he could have asked for. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re a disgusting romantic.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thank you, Eds, yes I am. Picked it up from all those years you spent wooing me in the garden.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I am not a romantic.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hmm. We’ll see about that, won’t we.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t know if he’s being sincere or winding me up, but his hands tracing spirals into my shoulder and across my thigh are making it hard to distinguish the difference. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What if I want to touch your dick?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie laughs, unintentionally shaking me. ‘You can touch my dick. Jesus. Get in there next time babe, I know you’re not shy.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m gonna,’ I say quietly, rubbing across Richie’s hip, where he’s always touching me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Good. Fucking- can’t wait,’ he replies, his voice going soft and slow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you gonna sleep?’ I ask. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’d love to. You have no idea how tiring it is, staring at a concrete road all day and not at your beautiful face.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I run my fingers through the swirls of hair on Richie’s belly, feeling him hum through my hand. I listen to his breathing slow, and the creases smooth out from around his eyes. He’s smiling as he drops into sleep, and the fear inside me dissipates in another feedback loop. I slide his glasses off his face and let him sleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie: </b>
  <span>Eddie’s missing from the room when I wake up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His clothes are still spread out across the floor, and I know he’s a bit of a crazy bastard sometimes, but I don’t think he’s out voluntarily streaking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I always hated this moment, when I realize he’s gone. It was sometimes easier if I’d watched it happen, the adrenaline from witnessing him disappear into thin air, always used to cushion the crash a little. His clothes are on the floor for a completely different reason now, but I know what it means. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like morons, we still haven’t talked about what I should do. It’s obvious that I should wait, but I know, realistically, I could be here for days.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I leave the room door unlocked, and a note for him on the bedside table, when I go for a walk. I find a bookshop, and waste some time flicking through one of Bill’s old books, live blogging the experience to the group chat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I spend the walk back trying to keep my expectations low. I know Eddie probably won’t be back at the room yet, just like I know he doesn’t want the same things from this relationship as me. Not yet anyway. He hasn’t had two decades of subconscious pining to scramble his brain like I have. This disappearance is probably his body’s way of giving him space. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room looks exactly like I left it, and I settle in to wait. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> It’s dark when I get back to the present. I wait behind a parked car until the coast is clear, and make a clean run to our room. I can see Richie’s car, so I know he’s still here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shut the door behind me, as he slides out of the bathroom, banging into the doorframe with toothpaste around his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Shitballs, you okay?’ He asks, smiling with relief.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m good, all good. It’s still Monday?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah,’ Richie laughs, leaning against the door frame. ‘Oh man, I woke up and didn’t know if you’d ditched me for a run, or food or something, or were just hiding under the bed in some weird role play thing. What happened?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can you... just hold that thought for a minute?’ I ask, rounding up my clothes from across the floor. ‘I’m starving, like, so hungry I want to cry. Did you get food?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Just had some Doritos from the vending machine, but not dinner. I didn’t know what to do. Shouldn’t we talk about that?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, food first.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wipe the toothpaste from the corner of his mouth, pocketing the room key as we leave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie fills me in on his trip to the bookshop, while we wait for food, like nothing weird has happened. I’m on edge by how normal he’s acting, waiting for the rug to get pulled out from under me, but the moment never comes. He rambles on until I’m mostly finished with a bowl of guacamole and chips, before dropping his voice to question me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eds, you gotta tell me where you went, I’m bursting here. Did you see me?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I thought you never saw me this young.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, but memories are weird, I could be wrong.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I was at my house three weeks ago.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh. What happened?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It was the middle of the night. I made a racket bumping into the sofa when I turned up, so I came down to investigate. Hung out on the sofa in the dark for a couple of hours, then I came back.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Doesn’t it fuck something up if you see yourself?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No. It happens sometimes, it’s fine. I remember the other side of it actually, but I didn’t realize at the time I was coming from fucking Iowa.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can’t believe the kid who had a special fanny pack for medical supplies, just said that speaking to himself in the past ‘is fine’.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Shut up,’ I say, knocking Richie’s hands out of the elongated air quotes he’s doing in my face. ‘I’ve had way weirder encounters with myself.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie swallows and sips his margarita. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I looked so miserable, not that I don’t always look like a sore git. I think I made the right call about leaving.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, ya did.’ Richie bumps our knees together under the table, smiling. ‘You give yourself a heads up about coming back to Derry?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie flings his eyebrows up in surprise. ‘Why not?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Because that’s not how it happened three weeks ago.’ I laugh, thinking how absurd it is in hindsight. ‘I told myself everything was normal.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ha! The new normal, maybe.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah. Hey, thanks for waiting for me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie shrugs, stealing a chip and an obscene amount of dip. ‘Didn’t know what else to do to be honest.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I specifically said to get your own if you wanted some.’ I slap his hand away from the bowl when it makes a return journey. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Wait till we go for Mexican in LA. You’re gonna lose your slutty little guac mind, Eds.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t say slutty and guac in the same sentence.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Our mains arrive, and Richie grins through the delivery, mouthing ‘slutty guac’ to me across the table, as I return a murderous look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If it happens again, I should wait?’ Richie asks, once we’re alone again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If you can. I’ll come back eventually.’</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Tuesday 20th September 2016</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I’ve always found travelling exhausting. Living in New York was a logistical nightmare of public transport, I’d grit my teeth through on a daily basis. I’d worry the whole time about disappearing, that someone in the crowd of people would watch it happen, or the jolt in velocity would send my body spinning to a standstill in seconds. But sitting in the car with Richie is okay, some parts of it are nice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We’ve been flipping between radio stations and the list of podcasts I want to catch up on all day. I’ve won for the moment, having spent the past 45 minutes with my hand over the dial, so Richie can’t mess with it when I’m not looking. He keeps insisting he’s in charge because he’s driving, but I’m the one spending hours with nothing to do. I’d fucking love to be driving. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s got an uncanny ability to find the nearest country music station on the first twist of the dial, that he then warbles along to, without knowing any of the lyrics, which is unbearably annoying and endearing in equal parts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stretch out, thinking about sneaking in a late afternoon nap as my running podcast wraps up, thinking that Richie will go back to station surfing and singing, when he starts to speak.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘So… Eddie.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ve avoided looking at him, so we don’t have a repeat of yesterday, but I relent now. He hasn’t shaved, his stubble growing out into something nice and dark. I run a finger up his jawline to rub the hair the wrong way, burning a bridge with my own self-preservation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Rich.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Should we talk about how this works. When we get to LA, and you start disappearing on me?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I laugh, rubbing my hand through my own stubble. ‘There’s not much to talk about.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eddie. I don’t have a clue what to do.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You don’t have to do anything. I go, most of the time I have no warning, it just happens, but then I come back.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How often?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Depends. Sometimes a lot over a short period, and then nothing for a while. Sometimes it’s semi-regular, like, once a week maybe, for months at a time. If I’m stressed or haven’t been able to run it’s worse.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay, so running is key. And keeping you cool, calm and collected.’ I catch his eye and we both laugh. ‘That’ll be the fucking day.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s so ironic.’ I wiggle the lever underneath my seat and recline back. ‘I got a bad flu in my mid-twenties and couldn’t run for weeks. The whole thing was bad, I kept jumping all over the place while I was sick. I spent one of the trips in the Barrens, using leaves for my snotty fucking nose.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s trying very hard not to laugh at me. ‘Aw babe, you sound like a mess. I’ll quarantine myself if I get sick.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You really don’t have to do anything. But do not fucking sneeze on me if you’re sick. ’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, no, no, your immune system is top priority. Only vegetables in the house from now on, no carbs. Garlic in everything, even fucking… I dunno, cereal.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Gross. I need carbs for running.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Carbs in every meal, got it. Ooh Eds, you like going grocery shopping? You gonna come shopping with me?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I guess.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie grins, slapping me on the shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you excited about that?’ I ask, confused by his enthusiasm. ‘Why. The. Fuck. Are you excited about that?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you kidding? It’s the most domestic shit there is, apart from folding bed sheets together. I cannot wait to see what you’re like in a grocery store. I bet you get trolley wheel rage.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thought I had a grasp on how big of a nerd you are, but I was wrong. Whatever the fuck trolley wheel rage is, yes, of course I get it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s when the front wheel of the trolley gets stuck and you have to unjam it all the time.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I twitch thinking about it. I was not expecting him to be so eager to engage with this. At best I was hoping for an endless stream of bad jokes, and a resigned tolerance to the weirdness of the whole thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eddie, you will never have to worry about that again.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I never worried about it before.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We’re on a roll here, what else helps?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I empty my lungs in a huff. ‘I got told meditation helps, but it just pisses me off.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What?’ Richie laughs. ‘You can’t be doing it right if it’s pissing you off.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, I was doing it right, it’s just fucking stupid. What’s my brain meant to be doing if not thinking?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie laughs himself stupid at the wheel, steering with his elbows, while he pretends to take notes with an invisible pen, mumbling to himself. ‘Eddie must be thinking dumb shit at all times.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I didn’t say thinking dumb shit. Asshole.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie pinches my arm, and we go back and forth, bumping elbows in the tiny space to poke each other. I stop after touching a particularly nice part of his arm, not remembering what we were talking about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Who told you it helps?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Another time traveller.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ho-ly shit. Are you a member of the Time Bandits?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ha ha, yeah, because most of them are dwarves, right?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I didn’t even mean it like that!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He’s the only one I’ve met, but yeah, there are more of us. There was a conference in Europe last year, but I didn’t go. Obviously.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Would you want to go?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why not?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hesitate, not sure if I want to share my medical history with Richie, in-case he tries to talk me into treating something I don’t think can be fixed. He’s gone quiet next to me, pretending to concentrate on the road. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I went to see a doctor about it a while ago. Henry told me about him, he’s the other time traveller. This doctor tried a bunch of experimental drugs on Henry, but none of them worked.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I glance over to gauge Richie’s reaction. He’s very still, eyes still fixed on the road.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He’s the one who discovered a gene mutation is what causes Chrono-Impairment, and he wanted to try gene therapy on me. Untested, experimental, gene therapy. Which was fucking terrifying, so I left it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How long ago was this?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ten years ago.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Right.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘There’s no way I’m letting someone fuck around with my cells, Richie.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, I know. I know that. What does your current doctor think?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘They don’t know. You’re the only one who knows.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Me, and this gene doctor.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I didn’t give him my real name.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay, wow, just me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You wouldn’t know either, if I could help it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie squints, still staring straight ahead, bothered by that statement. ‘I just want you to be okay.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Henry also told me that sex helps,’ I reply, changing the subject. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A shit eating grin creeps onto Richie’s face. ‘Oh, interesting. I had no idea, from your behaviour this week. How’s that one been working out for you? Load of rubbish like meditating?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It works. If you wanna help me, that’s what you can focus on. Just keep fucking me real good, and I’ll be fine.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Medicinal shagging, got it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t mean it like that. Just treat me like you would if I didn’t time travel.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie doesn’t reply, and I can’t tell what he’s thinking. He feels far away all of a sudden, this conversation swinging us in a loop around each other, in opposite directions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You using that?’ I ask, gesturing towards the hand that’s resting against his leg, and not on the wheel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘The pen?’ he replies, fishing one out of the tray by the handbrake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, your hand.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pull it into my lap, his reaction too slow, and rest my fingers in his palm. He keeps driving, and I try to bring us back together again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> Eddie’s been stroking his thumb up and down my palm for the past hour. He seems perfectly content to sit in silence, playing with my hand, while his brain does crazy somersaults over the conversation we just had. His visits have not prepared me for the scary fucking shit he deals with everyday. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m trying not to dwell on what he said, that he’d rather I didn’t know about any of this. I know I haven’t earned his trust yet, but I will. If I can help him, even in a small way, I’ll figure it out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You wanna find somewhere to stop soon?’ I ask, folding my hand around his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I had a look earlier. We should stop before we get to Denver.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie tells me to turn off fifteen minutes later. We have our check in routine down by now; I get the keys and Eddie sorts the bags. We make out for a while, Eddie straddling my hips on the edge of the bed, making pretty noises in my mouth, and a mess of my hair. My stomach interrupts us, and we reluctantly leave for dinner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie takes my hand while we walk, playing his thumb across my palm again. ‘Thanks for before, for thinking of me. I’m sorry about what I said.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stops, and I jolt back to meet him, our arms outstretched to stay connected. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s good that you know,’ he continues, tugging me back towards him. ‘I think.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod. ‘We’ll make it good.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> Eddie’s been pressing me down into the mattress since we got back to the room. He’s a one man dick drilling machine, trying to plow his way through two layers of denim, one wicked hip grind at a time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s driving me crazy, making this stupid, breathy noise into my mouth, whenever our tongues slide together. He’s tried to wriggle his way out of my arms three times now, to strip and move this along, but I keep pulling him back. I want to see how long I can keep him like this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hate your mouth,’ Eddie gasps, biting my ear, and ruining my plan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What, why?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Always fucking winding me up. All the dumb shit you say, and now with kissing.’ Eddie licks back into my mouth, tilting my head to the side with a jolt to get the angle he wants. ‘Fucking annoying.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I rock his ass forward into me, which Eddie uses as an excuse to roll away and whip off his shirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re the fucking motor mouth,’ I say, watching him strip. ‘I just rev you up a bit.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Your hands are just as bad,’ Eddie says, slinking back over me, sitting directly on top of my cock, focusing my attention on him beautifully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You mean these hands?’ I demonstrate, rubbing over his knees and thighs, resting on his hips, as his prick thickens under my gaze. I want to lean forward and suck it into my mouth, until it bursts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Touching me all the time, always in my face or fucking poking me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie watches my hands stroke up and down his legs, back to his hips. I know he’s waiting for me to circle in and stroke him, but I’m not going to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Pretty sure it was you that did that,’ I say. ‘Climbing over me in a hammock, just like this.’ I pull him down to grind against me. ‘Well, not exactly like this.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie gets his hands under my shirt to pet me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hit me Bright Eyes,’ I say, rubbing my thumb over his nipple, instantly wanting to pop it into my mouth. ‘Where is this heading?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ah, fuck. Want your hands.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You got um.’ I rub his other nipple to make my point. ‘Get off me a sec, I’m overdressed.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I round up the condoms and lube while I undress. Eddie waits impatiently, herding me onto my back, in the middle of the bed, climbing back into position over my hips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Suit up,’ I say, slapping a foil packet into his hand and opening my own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I thought you were a romantic,’ Eddie says, ripping and spitting the top of the wrapper out of his mouth. ‘Doing my own fucking rubber isn’t romantic.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Give it here then, you little shit.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie looks pleased, sitting high and mighty on top of me, as I wrestle the packet out of his hands and I roll it on him, extra slowly. I make a show of slicking my hand and him, loving the way his legs clench around me as I stroke him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie looks unreal and I cannot take my eyes off him. Spread out on top of me, hard and glistening, with a hint of sweat across his brow and chest. I could probably come like this, with him rocking in my lap, my hand on his cock, thinking about sliding in and fucking him like this one day.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do me?’ I ask, shaking my packet under his nose, before I embarrass myself.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie shifts back, sitting between my legs, and does the honours. I stretch out on the bed, arms extending to push against the headboard, while Eddie keeps his hand on my dick, and I let the pleasure curl it’s way through my body, like melting butter spreading out in the pan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘S’fucking nice, Eds.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie lets his bottom lip pop free from his teeth. ‘Yeah?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I roll up into his hand a couple of times. ‘Fuck yeah. You talk a big game about me, but your hands are gorgeous.’ Eddie’s flushed already, but he goes a shade deeper. ‘You wanna line us up?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He frowns, the cute little crease I always want to kiss, making an appearance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He presses forwards and I scoop us both inside my hand, wrapping my legs around him in a way my back doesn’t totally agree with. He leans forward a little over me and it looks like he’s about to fuck me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I slide my hand up us both in a long, slick stroke, watching Eddie’s face rather than my hand. His mouth falls open in surprise, then snaps shut, clenching through a moan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I grip my other hand at the base to keep us steady, and work my thumb in a slow circle over our tips, where they’re joined together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You should,’ I say. ‘Fuck my fist.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s eyes looked closed, but I know he’s watching us rub together, tongue peeking out between his lips, like he’s panting. He grips my forearm hard and rolls his hips, pushing his cock through my fist. We lock eyes and both moan, and then he’s fucking against me and through me all at once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Knew you’d be good at this, Eds. Fucking dumb kicky legs, always busting me up. Found a good use for that energy now, huh.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie leans over me on all fours, planting his hands on the mattress by my armpits for leverage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ll show you kicky legs,’ Eddie huffs against my mouth, kissing down my throat. I feel it all the way to my toes, which curl against his legs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Give it to me,’ I say, bracing my free hand on the headboard to push back into him. ‘Want it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rolls his hips hard, rocking the bed, messing up his hair against my chin. It’s devastatingly hot to see him let go and take this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Want you.’ I squeeze my fist tighter, his hips stuttering before regaining their rhythm. ‘Want you to fuck me like this.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie bites my neck and moans, rocking his hips faster. He rubs his face back and forth against me, whimpering with pleasure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I want to stroke his back, and touch his nipples again, pull his mouth up to mine and hold him there, so I can lick his teeth, or bite his cheek, but I don’t have enough hands for all the things I want to do.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re gonna make me come,’ I pant, licking his ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie shivers, looking up, rubbing his nose against mine. I steal a kiss, that he shakes his head out of.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Watching you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh fuck.’ I close my eyes, embarrassed about what he’ll see on my face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reaches for my hand at the head of the bed, and curls our fingers together. The intimacy of the gesture pushing me over the edge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I breathe through it, tightening my fist around Eddie, where he’s still hard and thrusting against me. I beg him to follow me, and he does, eyes closed and mouth open in a perfect little circle. His hips finally slow, sending their rhythm up to his mouth, which is soft and insistent against mine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey you,’ I say, when Eddie comes up for air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I roll my wrist and flex my sticky fingers, before Eddie pins my hand to the bed like its other half, and I swoon into the bedsheets. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That was-’ Eddie shivers again, saying more than any word could. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘-pretty fucking excellent,’ I finish. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie looks away, unable to contain the smile bursting out of him, speechless for once at our combined brilliance. I kiss up and down his cheekbone, cleaning up the sweat he’s covered in and tasting his skin, over and over, until he pushes me away to stagger to the bathroom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lie back in our mess and wonder how I got so lucky. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Wednesday 21st September 2016</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> I’m in the car, waiting for Eddie to haul ass out of the room and go on the breakfast run so we can leave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Requests?’ he asks, sticking his head inside the car window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘The usual,’ I reply. Which is the biggest white coffee he can carry, and something sweet I can eat one handed. I watch him jog across the street, pleased that he seems relaxed today. I woke up with him curled around me, his mouth soft and wet against the nape of my neck, the dreamy softness of it still lingering in the corners of my mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m on map duty, weighing up whether we drive into the night and make it back to LA in one last sprint, or split it, and cruise back over two days. Both options are appealing to me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie slides back into the car, and I make a big show of peeking into the paper bag to see what he’s got me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You spoil me,’ I say, eating half the cinnamon bun in three quick bites, before leaning over to kiss him, my mouth still full. He pushes me away, holding my face out of range until I swallow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What's the plan?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Well,’ I start. ‘Two options. Both of them start with you kissing the little bit of icing I know is on the corner of my mouth right now.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie rolls his eyes, smile glued to his face, indulging me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We can drive straight through to LA. It’s sixteen hours of driving, so maybe eighteen with stops.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie looks back at me, like he’s sucking lemon juice instead of iced coffee.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Or we stop halfway and get to LA tomorrow. We’ll be in the middle of a national park, so we might be able to find somewhere cute to stay. Log cabin.’ I wiggle my eyebrows. ‘Don’t get too excited Eds, but there's a place called Richfield. You know what they say, double the Rich, double the fun.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Think it’s double the dumb. Let's split it. I’m actually enjoying this more than I thought I would.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s the spirit.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s got his shades on, poking around on my phone, hopefully looking for somewhere we can stay with a bit of scenery. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can’t believe you talked shit about Richfield,’ he says, taking a bite from my bun. ‘There’s a place down the road from there called Beaver, and a place called Mt Baldy. Wow. Let's stay there, that’ll be you in three years.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Jokes on you Eds, you gotta look at me.’ I shove the rest of the bun in my mouth, spitting crumbs as I try to kiss him again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lets me this time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> It’s dusk on a balmy evening, at the cute desert resort with hot springs that Eddie’s booked us into. We’re tucked away from the main springs, in two smaller tubs, surrounded by an outcrop of burnt red rocks, with a view of the mountain range spread out in front of us, beyond the desert.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s eyes are closed, so I’m taking the opportunity to look at him without scrutiny. The heat of the water has smoothed away the tension from his face, which looks angular and soft at the same time. He’s made himself as long as possible, arms flung back behind him, toes peeking out the water at the other end of the tub. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can’t see them from here, but I know he’s squeezed into a very tight pair of trunks he got during the supply run to Target this afternoon. My trunks are also small, but he has a good reason for misjudging my size.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m meant to be relaxing, and the water is doing wonders for my muscles, after a week of driving and fucking like I’m half my age, but I can’t switch off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m thinking myself in circles, running through all the ways I can help keep Eddie relaxed like this when we get to California. He’s told me I don’t need to do anything, but I know I won’t be able to stop myself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’ve been quiet,’ Eddie says, cracking open an eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I look away, embarrassed to be caught in a vulnerable moment. ‘Thought you were asleep.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Just thinking. I mean, you’ve been awfully quiet about my visits to Derry.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t wanna blow the space time continuum, or whatever it’s called.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re not gonna break it by talking, although god knows you’d try. Come on, I thought you’d be lining up stories.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Bringing up the marriage thing the other night wasn’t the best decision.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Stuff about our life that hasn’t happened yet, maybe don’t tell me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I told you a lot of stuff then?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No! Oh man, you told me next to nothing, it was so fucking frustrating.’ I poke my tongue out, in the way that used to send him absolutely nuclear when we were kids. ‘Maybe I’ll just lord it over you, Eds. You’ll have to wait and see.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lie back, hoping he’ll take it as a sign to change the subject. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie stands up and my stomach sinks, thinking he’s about to walk off and I’ve fucked this up already. There’s no way in hell I’m going to be able to navigate a life with him, if I can’t discuss this without pissing him off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He dips a finger into my tub. ‘Your water’s hotter than mine. Shift up.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then I have an eye full of toned, butter wouldn’t melt, thighs in my face, and two handfuls of slippery wet hips, as Eddie eases into my tub. He sits flush against my front, nestled between my legs, head tilted back on my shoulder. He maneuvers my hands where he wants them, one high on his stomach underneath his pecs, the other low, almost dipping into his trunks. I push my luck and feel under the fabric, holding him, semi-hard in my palm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie grips my forearm and sighs. ‘Don’t distract me like that, we’re talking about this.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I suck at the spot he loves behind his ear, and feel him pulse in my hand. Eddie’s head darts around to check if anyones watching.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We’re alone, I checked. Not gonna do anything, just wanna hold you.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Just- don’t kiss me there right now, otherwise this is fine.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What do you wanna know?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What happens the first time you see me?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You scare the living crap outta me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hmm, but what happens.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I think you’re the clown, playing a trick on me, and you tried to persuade me that you’re not.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I tell you who I am?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, you came right out and said it. Hey, it’s me, Eds Spagheds, I time travel now.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Probably was the clown if I said Eds fucking Spagheds.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘After a few minutes I knew it was you. You told me all this personal shit that only we’d know, how I reset your arm in Neibolt, and the leaving present I got you.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie pinches me, over the crease in my elbow, where he’s been stroking me. ‘Spaghetti mix.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah.’ I kiss his temple and he melts back into me a fraction. ‘Then you told me some stuff I had to do for your next visit.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Leave you clothes and food, and come meet you so we could hang out. You were acting all coy about it, like I didn’t have to come back. But I did, I wanted to.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh god, I don’t wanna think about the food you’re gonna make me.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You came during the morning once, and I left you some cereal and milk. But the milk, oh man, the milk had been there overnight, so it must have been rank.’ I fold my face into Eddie’s neck laughing. ‘I’d be more concerned about the clothes.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m jostling Eddie about in the tub against me as I laugh, remembering the red shorts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Richie, I swear, if you stitch me up-’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Too late!’ I hold Eddie tighter, so he can’t move away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m fucking annoyed now.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sometimes I left you nice stuff.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Your version of nice is still horrible.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You got free will. Spend the visits naked, be my fucking guest.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I kiss him behind his ear again and he huffs, more pleased than annoyed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m actually excited about seeing you,’ he says, going back to stroking my arms, ruffling up the wet hair. ‘It was good, right? For you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh yeah. Once I got over the weirdness, I loved seeing you. It was the best thing. And not just the dumb shit we did together. You helped me work through a bunch of stuff I had going on, which makes sense, thinking about it now. We’re not even in LA and this is...’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah,’ Eddie replies, looking over his shoulder at me. ‘I know.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rubs his thumb along my jaw, sending something achy through me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What type of things did I help you with?’ he asks, softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I swallow. He knows already, so I don’t think it would break anything if I told him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You were the first person I came out to.’ I shove my glasses into my hair to stop them steaming up, and Eddie swims out of focus, making it easier to talk. ‘I had a hard time of it, you know, I had no outlet or other gay people to talk to, not anyone I knew anyway. I couldn’t go on dates, or kiss anyone, all the normal teenage stuff. I had a bad day on one of your visits. I remember being so scared you’d figure out why I was crying, it didn’t even occur to me that you’d know in the future. I thought, how I felt then was how it would be for the rest of my life.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I laugh, try to downplay how raw saying that out loud makes me feel, but it bursts me like a dam. That was how the rest of my life turned out. I forgot, and nothing changed for me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie takes my face in his hands, so I have to look at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m so sorry you felt that way Rich, and I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you properly. The way you feel,’ Eddie pauses, blinking through his thoughts. ‘The way you feel about men, and about me, it’s a good thing.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lean down to rub our noses together, overwhelmed. ‘That’s pretty much what you said back then as well.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He cleans the tears off my face, like he’s been doing for decades now, like it’s his birth born duty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You told me to be proud,’ I say, smiling softly.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sounds about right.’ Eddie rubs his thumb against the corner of my mouth, and I kiss him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I felt so invincible the rest of that year because you said that, because you saw me for who I was, and you still wanted to be my friend.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Of course I did.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Except now you see me, and you wanna be with me. That’s pretty cool.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie looks down at the water, watching the grizzle and blood from my admission mix with our legs in the water. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You mentioned something at the bar, with the others,’ he says. ‘When Stan said it took forty years for us to figure it out, but you said twenty-seven.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I look up at the sky. It’s dark now, and the stars are looking back at me, the light from thousands of years ago, catching up to us. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s how long I’ve known. With you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Since you were-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thirteen, yeah.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was such an inconsequential moment when I realized. Eddie was in the seat next to me in math class, the same place he always sat. We’d figured out, through years of experimenting, that this was the best way to pass notes unseen, which was our primary focus of math class. Eddie had nudged my elbow, a folded up note clenched tight in his hand, at the exact moment Mr Parks looked up. We’d frozen, fingers wedged together, praying he wouldn’t see us. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We got away with it, and I’d looked over at Eddie, his tongue peeking out the side of his mouth, eyes wide and face flushed with glee that we’d got away with something naughty. He looked the same, it was me who’d changed irreversibly. The earth had swayed on its axis and would never sit right for me again. I can’t remember what the note said, but I will never forget how instantly that moment changed to me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I didn’t know,’ Eddie says, tilting my jaw back down to earth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I didn’t want you to know back then.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What about now?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie slides my glasses back on my nose as I look at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Now’s good.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods, quiet for a moment, hands lingering on my face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m so glad you kissed me,’ he says. ‘That I figured this out with you, I think it was always going to be you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie leans up in a hot slide of lips, before sinking back into the water. I watch him stroke his fingers over my hands, while I digest the confession he just dropped on me, like a beautifully wrapped gift. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He climbs out of the tub a while later, bitching about wrinkly fingers. I immerse myself in the water, let it burn my face before I re-emerge, cleansed of years of negative energy, by the heat and Eddie’s words.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Thursday 22nd September 2016</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> We’re speeding down the freeway in California, two hours out from LA. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s hot, so I’m wearing shorts that sit high up on my legs, letting them breathe. I’ve put my feet up on the dashboard, because it’s comfy, but also so Richie can get an eyeful whenever he looks over. His hands have been flexing on the wheel for a while, so I take pity on him, placing one high up on my thigh. He feels me up for a moment, then pulls his hand back, shaking his head, but not saying anything. He doesn’t look over at me after that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We could stop. Be reckless and pull over at a Motel, to touch each other stupid like we both want to, but we won’t. We’re so close to the thing that’s been building up for nearly thirty years between us. A life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The chance to be together without curfew or judgement, with no-one telling us we’re wrong or sick. With no-one watching with suspicious eyes, counting how long we touch each other, as if there’s an appropriate time limit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I, of all people, know how fragile this is. How one moment can be lost in a blink of an eye to something completely different. I also know it won’t be easy. I have to face up to all the things I’ve left behind, that I set up to comfort the wrong parts of me. I don’t know what another type of life looks like yet, but I know that I want to try it with Richie. </span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Warnings: infidelity, mention of imaginary blood and guts</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>‘There’s another bit of garden down there,’ Richie says, gesturing along the line of palm trees, that descend out of sight, along the bottom of the bedroom window. </p><p>‘It’s nice. The house,’ I reply, turning towards the door, with the intention of scoping out the kitchen, and nosing through Richie’s cupboards. </p><p>‘Yeah?’</p><p>‘Way bigger than I thought.’</p><p>‘Like something else of mine?’</p><p>Richie catches the hand I throw back to slap him, tugging me back down the corridor with it, to a room I’ve missed. </p><p>‘This is the spare room.’</p><p>I lie down on the bed after Richie slinks away. There’s a grey smudge on the ceiling, shaped like a comma, a mistake in the painting or a water stain, that I knew would be there before I looked.</p><p>I’ve been here before.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>'E' rating is for Chapter 4 onwards, so this chapter is rated 'E'</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thursday 22nd September 2016 (Richie is 40, Eddie is 40)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> Richie’s house gives me the faintest sense of </span>
  <span>déjà vu.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The living space is open plan, with the TV, dining and kitchen space, all in one big room. There’s a floor to ceiling sliding door across the entire back wall, leading out to the garden and pool. The furniture is mostly wood and colourful upholstery, that I doubt Richie orchestrated, but the wall length bookcase stacked with DVD’s is very much his work, and I cannot wait to riffle through it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I drop my bag by the back of the couch to investigate the corridor off of the hallway. Richie follows me, his hand sitting nervously over the small of my back, as I peek into the office and bathroom on one side of the hall, and Richie’s room on the other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His room is huge, filled with dreamy pink and orange light from the sunset. The window over the bed has a beautiful view across the garden and the valley. There are two doors across the far wall, an en suite and walk-in wardrobe, which has a rack the size of my bathroom in New York, just for Richie’s shirts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘There’s another bit of garden down there,’ Richie says, gesturing along the line of palm trees, that descend out of sight, along the bottom of the bedroom window. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s nice. The house,’ I reply, turning towards the door, with the intention of scoping out the kitchen, and nosing through Richie’s cupboards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Way bigger than I thought.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Like something else of mine?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie catches the hand I throw back to slap him, tugging me back down the corridor with it, to a room I’ve missed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘This is the spare room.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stand under his arm in the doorway, waiting for my brain to catch up to my eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We could set it up for you, if you want,’ Richie starts. ‘If you wanted your own room. It’s not as big as mine, but it’s okay. Or we could swap, I’ll sleep in here-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I feel across his face and cover his mouth. ‘I thought I’d be staying in with you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lets out a long exhale. ‘That’s a better idea.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I slap his cheek softly. ‘Go make space for me in the wardrobe?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lie down on the bed after Richie slinks away. There’s a grey smudge on the ceiling, shaped like a comma, a mistake in the painting or a water stain, that I knew would be there before I looked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ve been here before.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Tuesday 4th October 2016 (Richie is 40, Eddie is 40)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> Eddie’s had a long week and it’s only Tuesday. He’s holed himself up in the office for the past two days, trying to catch up on the backlog of client requests he’s had since leaving New York. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s filled me in on how he normally works. Not for a big firm, in an open plan office, like I was imagining, but as a freelancer, in a tiny office space, that he rents and changes every six months, so his disappearances don’t raise suspicion. I always thought the corporate set up was bleak as fuck, but Eddie’s situation gets more and more depressing the longer I think about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He came out of the office late this afternoon, a thunderous look on his face, which he ran off before joining me for dinner. A dinner that I made, because a lifetime of living with overbearing women, has made Eddie a fucking useless cook. I have plans for him though, not that I’m any sort of chef, but maybe that’ll change now I’m cooking for someone else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Making him breakfast has been one of the highlights of living together so far. There’s something specifically romantic about it, after he’s spent the night in bed with me. Whenever Eddie was visiting and hadn’t disappeared at bedtime, I would press my body into a little ball of prayer when I went to sleep, begging for him to still be there in the morning. Now he’s with me every morning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We’re in bed together now, sat up against the headboard, Eddie snug between my legs. He’s holding my arm around him, while he scrolls through my phone, plotting running routes around the neighbourhood. We’re listening to a white noise playlist I found last week, when Eddie had a panic attack, and couldn’t calm himself down after speaking to a divorce lawyer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s having the desired effect on both of us. I’m floating, matching my breathing pace, slow and soft to Eddie’s, my face pressed into his hair, content to hold him until he’s ready to sleep. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Friday 7th October 2016 (Richie is 40, Eddie is 40)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> I’m sitting by the pool on a smoking hot day, my legs dunked into the water, trying to stay cool. I’m waiting for Eddie to finish talking on the phone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s dragged the landline into the office with him, one of those retro handsets with the super long cord, like you always see teenage girls using in 90’s movies. I’m not why I still have it hooked up, I haven’t used it in years.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie woke up this morning, bee in his bonnet about calling Myra. He’s been talking to a divorce lawyer for the past fortnight, hyping himself up for this conversation. He won’t tell me any of the details, which is fine by me, I just want to support him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I need to go back inside for sunscreen, but I don’t want to disturb him. I thought he’d be done by the time I got back from my morning work meeting. The first one with my manager and agent since I got back from Derry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I thought it would be a full crisis intervention, where they’d rip me a new asshole for ditching the tour. The cancelled dates did cause a bit of a mess, but they accepted my family reunion emergency spiel. I told them about reconnecting with Eddie, that he’s here with me, if you know what I mean. Neither of them were surprised that I’m living with another man.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both want to rebook the tour, but I’m not sure if I want to go back on stage, what I would even say up there, that wouldn’t be completely fake. So they sent me away to think about how I want to play my next move. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s walking over when I look up, his face red, expression closed. He spoons up behind me, dropping his feet into the water alongside mine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t want to talk about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> Richie doesn’t say it out loud, but I know he wants to talk about the divorce. I’m worried that if I start spewing my guts, I won't be able to stop, and all the edges between that bad thing and this good thing, will start to knit together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ve talked to Bev a couple of times and she had some good advice. Encouraged me not to call Myra at all if I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t face her finding out I wasn’t coming back through a lawyer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s left me sitting alone at the table after dinner. He’s on the couch, fiddling with an acoustic guitar, Hawaiian shirt blowing softly around him in the breeze from the open door. I can tell he’s stalling, trying to give me a window to talk without pushing. But even I know it doesn’t take thirty minutes to tune a guitar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I might go see a therapist,’ I say, my voice monotonous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah?’ Richie puts the guitar down, to lean over the side of the couch. ‘That sounds good.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Bev suggested it.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Smartest woman I know.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘She’s the only woman you know.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I started seeing someone six months ago. Didn’t get anywhere yet, but it might help now I’ve got my memories back.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My stomach drops. ‘You’re seeing someone?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie laughs. ‘A therapist.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Right.’ My heart thumps in a wonky rhythm. ‘I never asked you though. I just... assumed you were single.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I am. Eddie, I dry humped you against a table instead of saying hello.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I guess.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s the homosexual male mating call, didn’t you know?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, I skipped that memo.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Therapy is good though, it’s a good idea. You should have someone to talk to.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You don’t mind?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie shakes his head and starts strumming. ‘Nope. As long as you’re good, I’m good.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stare at my hands, feeling awful. Richie’s made so much space for me in his life, but I can’t do the same for him right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you wanna do something?’ Richie asks, propping the guitar against the wall. ‘Turn that frown, upside down?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t know.’ I rub my hands through my hair, feeling completely out of place. ‘I might go to bed. Fuck knows if I’ll be able to sleep.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You sleep last night?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Not really.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hmm. We should do something about that. You wanna do things I like about Eddie Kaspbrak?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I actually do want to do that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We’ve done this once before, the day I first spoke to the divorce lawyer, when I managed to spiral myself into a hot mess, that Richie deftly helped me unpick. I thought it was a wind up when he first suggested it, that he’d misread my mood and was going to poke another log into the fire. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he’d taken me to bed, and kissed all of his favourite places on my face, starting with my eyes, and finishing with my mouth, talking shit the whole time, and making me forget my foul mood. He’d curled around me afterwards, when we were both sleepy after making out, and kissed my neck until I’d fallen asleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wait for him in the bedroom, while he locks up and turns off the lights. He does a little dance to the beat in his head when he enters the room, climbing onto the bed and hovering over me on hands and knees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thought we’d start with a recap of last time.’ He wets his lips. ‘You wanna make out?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I close my eyes and tug his head down, so we can breathe each other in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s shirt drapes over me, which I take full advantage of, running my hands over his chest, up and down through the hair on his pecs, until he pulls away laughing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m meant to be doing that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Go on, then.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I need this off,’ he says, tugging my polo shirt over my head, as we sit up together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s eyes are all over me, running through his options, as I lie back. He settles his mouth on my shoulder, licking and biting along my clavicle, as he feels around for my arm, which I’ve wrapped around his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Flex for me,’ he says, pulling my arm out to the side. ‘Hel-lo.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie sucks his way down my bicep muscle, humming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What are you doing?’ I laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Kissing your arms. Your fit, tidy, little jock arms. I love them.’ He licks into my elbow, making me gasp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘They aren’t as nice as your arms.’ I run my finger tip up Richie’s forearm and into his shirt sleeve. ‘Take this the fuck off.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie shucks the shirt, in one impressive, gangly movement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you work out?’ I ask, rubbing his back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Not really.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t start, I think I’d die.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie rubs his thumb up and down my forearm, pleased.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Now, I love this whole shebang, Eds. Your whole arm deal. But this little fella, is my absolute favourite.’ He makes a show of sticking out his tongue, to slowly lick up and down my forearm vein. My legs clench around him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s kissing across my palm and sucking three fingers into his mouth, when the arousal coats my body and I want him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I drag Richie’s hand up to my face and pull his middle finger into my mouth. His eyes fly open immediately, and he drops my fingers, wet to the bedsheets. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie kisses me, mouthing around the finger I’m still sucking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sorry, I wasn’t trying to start something.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I push the hair back from his face. ‘I know. You made me feel better.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s the Toizer charm for ya.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘The Toizer charm starts and ends with your mouth. Take my shorts off and finger me.’  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Excuse me, I’m not done yet.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, you did my arm, that’s good.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I did one arm,’ Richie says, curling his mouth, shuffling down my body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Where are you going?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I smack the bedside table, looking for the lube, as he finds my nipple and sucks. I press into it, lube forgotten, as Richie hums and strokes my sides. I stick my hand in his face when he goes for the other side, his face bumping my palm, like a fish on the side of a tank. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’ve done one side now, come on,’ I say, desperate for some real friction. ‘Want it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Knew you lost your greedy little mind last time we did this.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I did, and it was over much too quickly. Most of the time I masturbate it involves my fingers, and Richie’s hands are much nicer than mine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I take off my shorts while he digs around in the drawer at a leisurely pace. I’m worried that I’m annoying him when I try to move things along quickly, I’m just not used to denying myself. I take a big breath and try to relax, while I wait for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie brings the lube up to his face, grinning, and I start back, thinking he’s about to drink it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How do you want it?’ He sings, using the bottle as his microphone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh my god.’ I peel with laughter at how giddy he is, and realize just how tense I am. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie smacks kisses down my thigh, giggling. ‘Come on Eds, how do you want it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I wanna kiss you.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie re-arranges us, lying on his side, so I can swing my leg over his hip in a vee, his arm angled over my hip behind me. I slide my arm under his head and wind my hand through his hair. We’re nose to nose like this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ready, Eddie?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah,’ I whisper, as Richie’s finger circles my rim and pushes in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It feels so different when it’s not my own fingers. Richie does it differently to how I would, but it’s nice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘So you want me to just jab at it, right?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Jab me, and I’ll clench so hard your finger comes off.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You wouldn’t. You need these fingers.’ Richie kisses my cheek. ‘This okay? I can’t really tell.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s good. Don’t touch my prostate yet, tease me first.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s hot.’ Richie buries his face in my neck. ‘This was meant to be a nice, sexy thing for you, but it feels like it’s for me.’ He pulls his finger out and rubs it against my rim, a second lined up next to the first. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I gasp and Richie whines, as he pushes back in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Kiss me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Looking at you right now.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I bite his mouth impatiently, and then he’s kissing me dirty, just like I wanted, dipping two fingertips into me, over and over again, until I feel golden with want. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘More?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod, panting. Richie slides his fingers in deeper, thrusting them in a rolling tempo, that I match with my hips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Love you like this. Gorgeous.’ He kisses my neck, pushing me away, so he can reach the nipple not tacky with saliva and make a mess of it, syncing the rhythm of his hand and mouth. He could be touching the head of my prick for how good it feels. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We’re both panting now, as Richie pulls back with a final lick. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tell me when you want it.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I want it.’ I rub two fingers against Richie’s cheek, up and down, how I want him to touch my prostate. ‘Soft.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His brow creases, as he pushes deeper. It’s too hard, and I instinctively pull his hair in shock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck, sorry, that wasn’t soft.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Again.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie tries again, and it’s much better. I push my hips down into it, as his brow softens.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I touch my fingers to his face again, in a semicircle. ‘Do this now.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie rubs his face against my shoulder, keeping his fingers pressed deep, lighting me up from the inside. It’s so intense, I don’t think I can speak. I rub shapes onto his skin whenever I want him to change how he’s moving, pressing my hips down to fuck myself on his fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s so hot when you tell me what you like. Eddie, this is so hot. I’m gonna come just touching you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can feel him, rubbing a wet spot against my hip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m gonna- like this,’ I say, kissing his nose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You can come like this?’ Richie watches his hand. ‘If you come like this, I’m toast, Eds. I’m gonna explode. I’m at peace going that way, just want you to know.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Stop.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie whips his head up and stills. I grab his forearm so he can’t pull out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Wanna talk for a second, fuck, I can’t even think when your fingers are moving.’ I tighten my grip, as Richie’s arm flexes. ‘Don’t pull out. Give me a rubber, give me two rubbers. We need to start putting these on before we do this, Rich.’ I’m leaking everywhere. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can’t get them unless I pull out.’ Richie kisses the corner of my mouth, his fingers twitching from the movement. ‘Wait, hold on.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rolls onto his stomach and flings his arm out to snag the box, handing it over without removing his fingers. It’s an awkward angle, but I roll them on, wiping my hand on Richie’s chest when I’m done. He’s being no help, licking across my armpit, making me jolt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t do that while I’ve got my hand on your prick. Dickhead.’ I slick him and start stroking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Did you mean it, you can come without touching your dick?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie stares, mouth comically open in awe. It gets better, when his eyes roll back, as I play with the head of his cock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Chill your nuts, it’s not that exciting.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ll be the judge of that. Christ. Can I move?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His fingers must be cramping just sitting inside me. I nod, and rub our noses together, and he gives me a little melody of all the things I’ve rubbed onto his skin tonight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both of our rhythms are fucked, as we try to bring each other off while cresting the wave of our own orgasms, but I’m so close, with every roll of our bodies against each other. Richie has his face tucked into my neck again, his mouth is open in a silent moan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Harder, Rich.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thrusts in, quick and deep, twists his fingers, making my cock pulse, and I’m coming. He rolls himself through my fist and follows me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie caves first, padding around the bedroom on wobbly legs, cleaning up our mess. I’m star-fished on my back, probably able but unwilling to move. I feel settled in my body much more than I’ve ever done. Not just now, post coital, but generally over the past few weeks. I love masturbating, and thought sex with Richie would be a funny, messy extension of that. But it’s something else entirely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slides into bed next to me with a glass of water, and pulls my head onto his shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Enjoy that?’ He asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I laugh. ‘That was... I don’t have the words actually. I still can’t move.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie beams. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m gonna develop a complex to freaking out if you keep this up,’ I say. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What a burden for us both. Too bad I just had the time of my life.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Did you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh my god. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re fucking loud, Eds. You know what a boost to the old ego that is? You just moaned yourself stupid on my fingers.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m not that loud. And I’m not fucking stupid.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re always loud. Too bad I like it. Actually, I fucking love it. Love. It. Noisy little fucker in my bed, all day, every day, yes please.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I like it when you shut the fuck up and put the water glass on the bedside table. I’m not a fucking coaster.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Wow.’ Richie takes the glass, even though I can reach the table just fine. ‘You done? Can I bask now?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m done. For now.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you think you’ll sleep?’ Richie asks, voice spun around into something small and quiet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I tighten my arms around him and nod, latching onto his calmness in answer.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Wednesday 12th October 2016 (Richie is 40, Eddie is 40)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> I’m in the waiting room of a clinic with Eddie, hoping we’ll get the safe sex seal of approval for the newly minted thing between us. Our relationship. I’ve been calling Eddie my boyfriend in my head for weeks, but neither of us have said it out loud. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s knees are going a mile a minute next to me. Clinics like this freak him out, but the hard part is done, we’re just waiting for the results. You can get them online now, but Eddie paid extra to get them rushed, so we’ve hung out to wait. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I loop my little finger around his, and he stops jittering for a moment. I’m gonna take him for coffee after this, not that he needs any caffeine, but there’s a cafe opposite the local dog park that I want to introduce him to. I know in my bones it’s too early to ask, but I want him completely gooey to the idea of adopting a dog with me, when it feels right to ask him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie gets called first. I check my phone while he’s gone, which has been vibrating in my pocket. Ben’s been busy, showing off his boat to the group chat. I couldn't give a shit, but it reminds me of something else that’s well oiled and meant to be admired, that I could show off. I check my camera roll, but Eddie’s got to the photos I snapped of his abs, while he was post-run stretching with his shirt off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s back, punching my arm, before I can repocket my phone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m good,’ he smiles, relieved. ‘You’re up.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I make a show of squeezing past him, grabbing his hips, even though there’s loads of room. He takes the phone off me as I go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pass with flying colours. Nothing to report, and then I’m dragging Eddie back out into the sun. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Monday 7th November 2016 (Richie is 40, Eddie is 40)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> I've been having the same conversation with my manager for ten minutes now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know it’s important, but I can’t make that work. Tuesday mornings are out for me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m pacing on the phone, trying to stay patient, while Eddie watches from the patio table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Steve, I’m begging you, stop asking, Tuesday mornings are out. Yeah, Wednesday is good, anytime Wednesday. Yeah, it’s a thing with my boyfriend. Okay, thank you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I throw my phone onto the couch after hanging up, so it can’t disturb us again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie slides his feet into my lap when I sit down, tucking his toes under the hem of my shorts. He’s keyed up today, his morning run having stoked rather than extinguished, whatever fire he’s got burning. He’d dragged me into the shower with him when he came back, stroked me hard and fast against the wall, while he fucked my legs, and I haven’t quite recovered yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We tagged teamed breakfast duties before the phone call interrupted us. Eddie on toast and parsley picking duty, while I made coffee and eggs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What was that about?’ he asks, while I shove half a slice of toast into my mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Pitch meeting.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘For TV?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No. Comedy show, that I really don’t want to do.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Did you cancel it?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Nah, moved it to Wednesday.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You should cancel it, if you don’t want to do it. Thought you were taking me to therapy tomorrow morning, but guess you’ve got other plans-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, I said I couldn’t do the meeting.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘-with your boyfriend.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m very aware that my brain is attached to my mouth, and the things I think, obsessively, for months, sometimes come out of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Well. You are my boyfriend,’ I say, wanting to throw myself backwards into the pool and never resurface.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You can’t just decide that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Right. Yeah, sorry.’ I rub the back of my neck. ‘Do you want to… be that?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Uh uh, that was terrible,’ Eddie says, pushing back his chair. ‘I’m doing it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Doing what?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘The asking.’  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He disappears into the house, coming back with a folded piece of notepaper, that he slides across the table to me. He calmly goes back to eating, like nothing monumental is happening.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inside the note he’s written:</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Richie,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Will you be my boyfriend?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Love Eddie</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s drawn a single square box underneath, with the word ‘Yes’ next to it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s looking away, across the garden, very aware of how dumb this is, but also how perfect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I rub my thumb over the word love. ‘I don’t have a pen.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie looks at me, like I’m the dumbest fuck he’s ever seen. He leans across the table, and I go to meet him, thinking he wants to kiss me, as he pulls a pen from behind my ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I cover the paper, so he can’t see what I’m doing, while I tick the box. He stares, unimpressed, as I hand the paper back to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You have to sneak it back to me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh,’ I laugh, tucking it underneath his coffee mug, when he’s no longer looking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He waits a moment before opening it. ‘Guess it’s official then.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We smile at each other, and Eddie puts his feet back in my lap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It feels like a milestone. The first of many, where Eddie catches up to me in what has always been our future, but is now our present. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The following day, I drop Eddie off at his first therapy session. I walk around the block a few times while I wait for him, and find an antique store that has some retro games stuffed into a back corner, and a cafe that does good coffee. I know Eddie would be fine if I wasn’t there, that he doesn’t need a chaperone, but I want to do this for him, and I’m stoked he’s letting me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gets into the car after forty-five minutes, face serious, until he spots my coffee and finishes it. We don’t talk on the drive back, but he takes my free hand into his lap, and I know we made the right call.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Friday 16th December 2016 (Richie is 40, Eddie is 40)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> I’m plating sandwiches for lunch, while Eddie stares daggers into his laptop screen at the dining room table. He’s been switching between the never-ending stare off and typing furiously for short bursts all morning. I think it’s something to do with the divorce. I tried singing to him earlier, a rendition of the film theme song that I’d renamed ‘the never-ending stare off’. I  got through a chorus and half a verse, before he flicked a stream of pens at my head.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What do you want to drink?’ I ask, angling my head around the corner of the fridge to see him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Water,’ Eddie replies, not looking up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When I turn back, he’s gone, his clothes drooping off the chair, the only sign that he was here a moment ago. I eat my sandwich at the table, next to his laptop, where I can see the screen out of the corner of my eye, but can’t read the e-mail he has open. I finish the glass of water I poured him, and close the laptop screen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wrap Eddie’s sandwich in cellophane and keep it in the fridge for when he gets back, but I end up eating it for dinner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two days later, when it’s dark and I’m making instant noodles for dinner, I hear a crash in the garden. I rush to the door, and find Eddie sprawled across a reclining deck chair. He untangles himself and walks over, wrapping his arms around me. I hug him back, and go to kiss him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Just vomited next to the chair. I’ll clean it up in a sec.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He goes to the bathroom and I bin the ruined noodles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Food?’ I shout down the hallway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie gargles and spits. ‘Yes, Thai please.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I call for delivery, and clean up some of the mess I’ve let accumulate over the past couple of days, while Eddie showers. We eat elbow to elbow, standing at the kitchen island, while Eddie tells me where he’s been. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I show up in Derry High School.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Everyone's worst nightmare, I’m completely fucking naked. I’ve thought about this before, obviously, and thank fuck I had a plan, because it was the middle of the day, middle of a period, luckily.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eddie, that’s nuts, what was the plan?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I go straight for the locker room, steal some kids clothes, while he’s out on the field.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie slaps my back as I choke from laughing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t laugh. I feel bad. He would have come back from gym with no clothes.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Did you steal his underwear too?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Eddie gags. ‘Ew, no, fuck you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You hang out at the school?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, made a break for it over the fence, didn’t want to spend a second longer in that place. I check the newspaper when I get into town, and it’s 1986.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We were ten!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, I know!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Wait, did you steal David Andrew’s clothes? Do you remember that? I feel like we were youngish when that happened, maybe ten. He had to wear gross gym clothes all day, because his regular clothes had vanished, and his Mom wouldn’t let him go home early.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh yeah, I remember. It might have been his stuff.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Holy shit, that was you. Eddie, that was you. This is crazy. What did you do after that?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I walked over to your house. Thought I’d scope out the clearing, so it’s fresh in my head when I start to visit you. I hung out in the garden for a bit, but it got cold, so I snuck into the basement.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You got in all the visiting Richie highlights, except for actually seeing me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, I saw you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stop eating, to give Eddie my full attention. ‘You saw me?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah. I hid behind the broken foosball table for hours, after you came crashing down there with Stan, both of you doing farm yard impressions. Fucking terrible impressions, by the way.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We both laugh, and I do the uncanniest goat you’ve ever heard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes, exactly.’ Eddies jabs me in the sternum. ‘I can’t believe you didn’t hear me laughing.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What were we doing?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Playing with Lego. Well, Stan did, he was trying to build up that big town you had stashed in the cupboard, but you-’ Eddie giggles. ‘You’re just launching toy cards off the couch, into the town hall, completely destroying it. And Stan just sighs and rebuilds it. Every fucking time he rebuilds it. He was so patient with you, holy shit.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You would have broken my fingers.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Too fucking right. The town hall is bitch to put together.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t remember that day specifically, but I remember days like that, playing with Stan in the basement. We constantly invited Eddie, but he wasn’t always allowed to come.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie rests his hand on my arm. ‘You good?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah.’ I laugh. ‘Just nice to remember that stuff. That’s such a cute memory for you to visit. We would have wanted you to come round and play too, you know.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie nods. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Man, I gotta call Stan. I wonder if he remembers that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Er- no you can’t call Stan.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Huh?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’ll be suspicious.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That I remember us playing together?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes, but what prompted that memory? Me, time travelling.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Come on, he’s never gonna think that’s the reason I’ve remembered.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He might. What if he saw me hiding, but never said anything, but this triggers his memory.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s a very specific concern to have.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, well, even when I go to nice moments in the past, it’s still dangerous.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s just Stan though, it doesn’t matter if he saw you.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It matters to me.’</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Sunday 22nd January 2017 (Richie is 40, Eddie is 40)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> It’s a rare, rainy afternoon, so I’ve been cuddled up on the couch with Richie for most of the day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s watching a very serious TV show about Russian spies in 80’s suburban America, that I’m dipping in and out of. Right now, I’m borrowing his phone to sort through a plan I’m making for his birthday. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The episode finishes, and Richie leans back in my arms, looking at me upside down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Get your own phone.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lock it, having finished what I need to do, and hand it back to him, but he doesn’t take it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t mind you using mine, but you could get one.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’d lose it or break it. Why do we keep having this conversation?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Because… if you had a phone…’ Richie kisses my chin. ‘Then I could text you. If you’re at home, and I’m out. Could send you selfies and stuff.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I guess.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would be nice to do that. Talk to each other during the day, when Richie’s out and I’m at home, working in the office. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Think about how cute it’ll be when I can text you little hearts and stuff,’ he continues.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay, you ruined it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Send you a peach emoji when I’m thinking about your butt. Peach emoji once an hour, at least.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Christ.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘And dog photos, I see heaps of dogs. Know you love a cute dog photo.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I look away, so he can’t see me smiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Means you can join the group chat properly, stop having to sign your name after you text.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ll think about it.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie smacks a big kiss, right over the dimple I’m winking at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey, another idea for you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hmm.’ I scratch the stubble under his chin, and he leans back properly, head on my shoulder, so I can get a better angle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Wanna put those hands to good use somewhere other than my phone?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Is this a sex thing?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No. In my hair.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I thumb over his Adam’s apple pretending to think about it. ‘Go on then.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie relocates to the floor between my legs, handing me his glasses for safe keeping. We could have done this with him lying on me, or we could have relocated to bed, where we usually do this, but he wants to sit uncomfortably on the floor for some reason. It’s blatantly clear that he’s obsessed with this, so I’m happy to do it however he wants. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I rub his scalp, ruffling his hair into a mess, as he leans his head into his knees. I can see his eyelashes dancing on his face, when he turns his head to the side. He’s rumbling away to himself, almost purring like a cat, as he runs his hands up and down my calves, and I hope my hands in his hair feel as good as his do on my legs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I have a little game I like to play when doing this, that I don’t think he’s twigged yet. I roll little sections of his hair around my fingers, trying to tuck the ends underneath themselves, and see how many little buns I can make before they start to fall out. My personal best is six, but I might be able to beat that, as Richie hasn’t washed his hair since yesterday. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I slow my hands down, after I smash the record with eight, smoothing out his curls, and rubbing my thumb over his ear and down his neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie huffs and tilts his head back, letting me maneuver his jaw to the side, so I can kiss him. It’s an awful angle, but his lips are slow and soft, and the noise he makes as he sighs into it, makes it worth it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can keep doing this,’ I say, as Richie blinks his eyes open. ‘Or, we could do things I like about Richie Tozier.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stretches his arms back, to loop around my neck, kissing the side of my nose in agreement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I peel him out of his clothes in the bedroom, and sit between his legs, stroking my hands over his knees. I’ve not done this to him before, but I’ve thought about it countless times.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I find this part the hardest, before we start and my mind is running loops around my body. I stall at the starting blocks, whenever I try to show him it’s two sided, all of this affection that seems to spill out of him so naturally. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie slides his foot under the hem of my t-shirt, pressing his toes to my stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Take this off?’ He asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ve lost my jeans but nothing else. I take it off slowly as Richie watches, visibly sinking back further into the bed.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m gonna start from this end,’ I say, gesturing to his legs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie puts his hands behind his head. ‘Okay. You can say if you’ve got a thing for feet.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I frown, and Richie laughs. I didn’t even think of that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘There it is, my favourite eyebrow crease. You haven’t started yet and I’m having a great time.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Shut up. Your feet are fine, but if you think I’m touching them with my mouth, when I know, I know, you haven’t showered since yesterday. Just, fuck no.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I take Richie’s foot off my stomach and prop it on my shoulder. He looks concerned for a moment, not sure his leg will stretch that way, but it does. I suck a kiss above his ankle bone and he gasps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you want me to touch your feet?’ I ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, not really.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I run my palms up his shin, pushing the hair up the wrong way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can’t believe you hate my feet though. I like it when you’re mean, but wow. Didn’t realize we were doing things I hate about Richie.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don't- I like this.’ I pinch the big muscle that runs down his calf. I think about biting it sometimes, when Richie’s pacing the garden talking to Stan, or dancing around the kitchen in shorts, burning something because he’s got distracted. I press my teeth into it gently, holding his leg still when it flexes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Now we’re talking. You a leg man, then Eds?’ Richie asks, tongue wagging.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I touch a kiss where my teeth have just been, and press Richie’s leg out, so I can lick behind his knee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When I come up for air, Richie’s panting, eyes hooded, clutching the pillow under his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I think I’m just a man, man.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie wheezes at the comment, as I slide my free hand past his leaking dick, onto his stomach, my fingers outstretched. He catches on, and slides his down to meet in the middle, linking our fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eds, Eddie, Eds. I’m so into this.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nose across the skin on Richie’s thigh and lick him, where he’s hot and creamy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘This is- I’m gonna shit out my mind if you’re about to kiss up my thigh. Good way. If you stop now, I will, um, beg you to keep going. But just, hold my leg, cause I may or may not be about to lose control of my limbs.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I didn’t think I’d enjoy this as much, being on the other end of it, but it’s intoxicating. I think about sitting back, and letting him make good on that request to beg, as I try to think of the word for what I want to do. It’s demolish. Richie, I should say, can I demolish your thighs with my mouth? Your beautiful, broad thighs, that I desperately want wrapped around my hips, and my legs, and my neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can I suck them?’ I can feel the heat radiating off my face. ‘Like a hickey?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie absorbs his bottom lip into his overbite. ‘Yeah, Jesus. Okay. Fucking. This better end with you touching my dick.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Put a rubber on and I’ll touch your dick.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie lets go of my hand and scrambles in the drawer. His giraffe neck arms are good for something, and he can reach them without moving. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hand shakes when he hands it down to me. I roll it on and go back to his leg, dancing my fingertips featherlight up and down the path I want to lick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck. I’m fucking sensitive.’ Richie laughs into his elbow. ‘Do it soft or my leg will fall off.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Will you tell me if it's too much?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods. ‘Yeah.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I kiss smack bang in the middle of his thigh. A really juicy spot, that makes a little ‘chu’ noise when I pull back. I hold his leg down with my elbow, going back to the same spot to suck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh, Eds. Fucking hell.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pull back after a minute to admire my work, rubbing the red spot on Richie’s thigh with my thumb. He’s red all the way down his body, from his ears to his toes, hair tugged into a mess by his own hand, face tucked into his elbow, too overwhelmed to watch me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wonder if he’s as sensitive on the soft, fleshy part of his arm, as he is on his leg. He lifts his arm up when he realizes I’ve paused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nibble up his thigh, towards the crease in his groin that I really want to taste. My mouth waters, the smell of him going straight to my head, as I lick down the crease with the flat of my tongue. Richie moans, and my cock pulses. I suck, as close to the curve of his ass, as I can get in this position. As I pull off, I stroke Richie’s cock from root to tip, making him shout. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sit back, thumbing over the head of his prick, until he peeks out from under his arm, his chest heaving. I watch him for a long moment, before pressing two fingers to the spot I sucked in the middle of his thigh. He shivers and closes his eyes, but doesn’t tell me to stop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m gonna suck you,’ I say.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck. Yeah you are, I’m gonna last two seconds.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Should I not?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ll do anything if you put your mouth back on me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I didn’t even touch his right leg and I’m about to finish this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hold his prick for a moment, not stroking, not sucking, drawing it out, before I pull him into my mouth, just the tip, and suck in a rolling motion, getting stronger and faster with every pull of my mouth. Just like I’ve practiced with my fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s making an obscene amount of noise. I think he’s saying my name, but he’s not stopping to breathe properly in-between words, so it all blends together. I can’t help but rock my hips against the mattress, with something hard and hot in my mouth, connected to the noises Richie’s making. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I rub my hand against his stomach and he takes my hand again, his eyes wild, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. I press my thumb behind his balls and slide down as far as I can comfortably go, and he’s coming. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t joking, that was quick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I kneel between his legs and fist myself, wanting to come. I feel over his belly and hips, with the hand he’s no longer gripping. Richie looks unconscious, probably like I looked, the first time he sucked me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eds,’ he says, pulling his hair, his eyes still closed. ‘You sucked everything from my brain to my nuts out of me. Let me touch you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I link our hands together again and he smiles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Like this,’ I say. ‘Let me look at you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie swears under his breath. ‘Come on me. My stomach.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m trying to keep my eyes open, to look at his soft, blissed out face. His limbs are loose, torso sweaty, the only tight part of his body are his fingers grasped in mine. I did that, I fucking did that to him. I come, as Richie holds me tight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I freak out afterwards. There’s come all over Richie’s cock and stomach. He watches, amused, as I clean up, until I try to roll him over to check the bedspread, which I’m sure I’ve got come on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It doesn’t matter.’ Richie slaps my hands away from turning his hips. ‘We’re gonna be under the covers in a minute anyway. Just change them in the morning. We can change them together, you know how much I like that. Can you come the fuck here, and love up on me. You can’t suck my cock like that, then leave the bed.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m half way through my teeth brushing routine before I register the request not to leave. I walk back into the bedroom, toothbrush dangling from my mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s looking at me fond as fuck, my pillow clutched across his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hurry up, you uptight motherfucker. I wanna spoon with you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I walk back to the sink to spit and rinse. ‘Too fucking bad, cause I’m gonna starfish on you, or whatever that’s called, and if you don’t like it you can go back to fucking my Mom. What the fuck is this sheets thing anyway.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You fold them together, right, it’s a two person job, cause the sheets are big.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie holds back the covers, so I can flop down on top of him, and we tangle together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘And as you fold, you get closer together, and then you can kiss. I’ve never done it, but I saw it on TV once. This cute lesbian couple on a house renovating show did it, and it broke my brain a little bit.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He breathes into my hair and my fingers curl around the soft part of his hips. I don’t know what to say to that, but I want to do it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That was pretty spectacular.’ Richie says, kissing across my hairline towards the top of my ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I angle my head up and we bump noses searching for each other's lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Never done that before.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie smooths his thumb over my bottom lip, pulling it back, looking for his missing brain cells. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You mean the dick sucking right? You’re a natural.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I liked it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie tucks his face into my neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Lucky. Fucking. Me. Holy shit. Stick a fork in me, I am done.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I take it back.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Nope.’ I can hear the smile in his voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie rolls, so we’re pressed together sideways, and licks into my mouth. I loop my arms around his neck, and hold him there, licking across his tongue, like I will with his dick, the next time I suck him. He moans into me, like he knows what I’m trying to say, shifting his hips in a little rocking motion, testing to see if I’ll let him roll me onto my back. I hook a leg around his knee and pull him over me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The real estate, as Richie calls it, of his shoulders and back when we kiss like this, always sends me feral. If I were braver, I’d let him do something else to me like this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eds, if how you’re kissing me, is how you’re gonna suck me again, I’m going out right now for some Viagra, so I can get it up again.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Look who's talking about leaving the bed. You are not fucking leaving this bed.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I like the crazy blown out look he’s got in his eyes, so I start fellating two of his fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eddie, what the hell. Are you still horny?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I close my eyes and keep going, pulling his hand in and out of my mouth, making him do all the work. Richie feels me up with his other hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re hard. Didn’t you just come? Fuck me. Eddie is this normal?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pop his fingers out of my mouth. We’re both staring down between us at my dick, which is definitely getting hard again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s normal for me. You’re the one that started kissing me.’ He’s going to think I’m too much, the way my body makes a freak of me in every way imaginable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Christ. It’s really- yeah, really fucking something. You, er- what got you going again?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thought about you fucking me like this.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie folds over, making a wounded noise, and I gloat internally for a moment, before he starts laughing into the sheets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What the fuck are you laughing at? What, so it’s fine for you to get blown to smithereens, but if I wanna talk about getting fucked, it’s a regular chuckle fest?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie kisses me quiet. I wrap my legs around his waist and grind up into him, until he starts laughing again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eddie, you’re a dream. I would very much like to come back to that thought. If I had any brain matter left, it would be dripping out my ears hearing you say that. But I’m not getting hard for another twelve hours, in a miracle case scenario.’ Richie shrugs his shoulders up to his ears and kisses my nose. ‘I’m also kinda tired.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nearly fell asleep with my hands in his hair an hour ago, and now I’m asking him to perform sexual olympics, after he’s come his brains out. This was meant to be about him, not me. I take his jaw in his hands, and rub my thumbs through his stubble. He’s smiling, pressing into my hands, not mad at me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ll run it off in the morning.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We can still do something, just low impact for me. You wanna fuck my fist, or my thighs or something?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thighs.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie laughs at how quickly I answer, rolling on his side away from me, so I can spoon up behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you sure?’ I ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If you kiss my neck while you do it, I am one hundred percent sure.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was probably gonna do that anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I come again, a while later, with my hand across Richie’s chest, and my mouth against a silky spot on his neck that I’ve kissed red, with words of encouragement floating back to me. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Wednesday 16th August 1989 (Eddie is 40)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie: </b>
  <span>I’m on Neibolt street again. The day I go inside number twenty-nine with Bill and Richie. This is, unfortunately, one of the places my subconscious insists on sending me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I smashed my head into a car wing mirror when I arrived, and it’s pounding. I’m hiding in the same car now, covered in a blanket I found in the trunk, trying to keep a low profile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I watch us roll up on our bikes and hesitate on the lawn, before going in. I want to go in with us, throttle Pennywise with my fists, so it can never touch any of us, but I know that’s not what happens.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m keeping an eye out for my fifteen year old self, who’ll appear half way down the street from me in a few minutes. There’s nothing I can do to help him either.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie shouts my name, so loud I can hear it through the layers of wood and metal between us. The others rush into the house to help us, as I try to think myself home, and back to Richie, who I left safe and sound, brushing his teeth in our bathroom, thirty years from now.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Tuesday 7th March 2017 (Richie is 41, Eddie is 40)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> Eddie’s acting like it’s a normal day, but I know he’s been scheming away for weeks. He’s not giving away anything when I drive him to therapy in the morning. We talked about moving his session to another day, but he comes out seeming positive almost every time now, so I didn’t wanna jinx a good thing, just because it’s my birthday.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I get a callback, for a voice-over gig on a true crime show, while I’m people watching in the car. It’s the first thing I’ve wanted to do for months. It’s been great not having anything full time, while I’ve breathed into this new thing with Eddie, but I’m feeling ready for something again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie climbs into the car, kissing me, and taking the iced coffee I got him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You good?’ I ask. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods, making a show of sipping through the straw, like he's been doing ever since he started sucking my cock, knowing it winds me up the way he likes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Take us to the beach?’ He asks, batting his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I think Eddie’s lost his mind, wanting to lie on the beach in early March, but he takes me to an ice-cream place, three blocks from the beach instead. We sit outside on little stools, our knees touching while we eat. I’ve got chunks of vanilla cake swirled through my cone, so it feels extra special. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can this be our birthday tradition?’ I ask. Eddie raises an eyebrow in question. ‘Ice-cream for breakfast.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We had breakfast at the house.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Second breakfast then.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sure.’ Eddie smiles. ‘Is this where you make a boring joke about me being a Hobbit?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I could. You and your perfectly sculpted, hairy legs. But the much doper take, is your chiseled fucking elven face. Legolas is a troll compared to you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie looks away, face composed, but completely smitten. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A fluffy, white dog interrupts my human stargazing, and I hold the half finished birthday cone in my mouth, so I can get two hands into its fur for a cuddle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s my birthday,’ I tell it’s owner, around my mouthful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie grimaces on my behalf, and she laughs, staying for a minute, so me and the dog can make friends. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We should get a dog,’ I tell Eddie, once we’re alone. ‘I want a dog, I mean, I’d love a dog. Dogs are cool.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His nose scrunches like an accordion as he considers it. I have big feet, yet they seem to fit into my mouth seamlessly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know, you’re not subtle. I think I’m allergic.’ Eddie’s picked out and eaten all the cherry pieces from his tub, and is swirling the rest of the ice cream around with a wooden spoon. ‘Actually, I dunno. That’s what my Mom told me, who fucking knows if that was true. Maybe I’m not.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can you get tested?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Probably.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We leave it at that. I think Eddie likes dogs, but it’s hard to tell if he’s always thought himself allergic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What are we doing now?’ I ask, as we walk back to the car. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ve booked a late lunch for 1pm, so we’ve got an hour before we have to leave. You wanna walk on the beach?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Will you hold my hand?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes.’ Eddie laughs, like it’s a stupid question. ‘God, you’re annoying.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We’re late to lunch, which is Eddie’s fault. It was his idea to make out in the car after our walk, and he was the one meant to be keeping track of time, not me, like he keeps insisting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The restaurant is much nicer than I was expecting. I realize Eddie’s smartly dressed, in dark grey slacks and a neat, pink polo shirt. I look down at my odd socks and broken sandals, wondering if they’ll let me in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I forget what I mess I look as soon as I hear our friends. Bill spots us first, blowing a raspberry across the room, as everyone else turns to look in a sea of teeth. I grab Eddie by the shoulder, walking him backwards, through the door and into the sun, a direct juxtaposition to where I should be headed. I hold up my finger to the group. One minute, give us one minute. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pull Eddie against me under the awning. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you so much.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re welcome. Idiot. Can you get back inside though, we’re fucking late, and four of those people flew here to see us.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I kiss him quickly. ‘Yes, sir. Please use that tone of voice in bed tonight.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I absolutely will, if you move it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We’re back in the restaurant a moment later, so I can launch myself into the booth to hug everyone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> We spend the afternoon in the restaurant. Richie eats an entire meal one handed, so he can clutch my knee under the table with the other. I relent, during desert, and give him my hand to hold instead. He’s giddy with attention, and tipsy from expensive wine, when we get thrown out before the dinner rush. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike drives us back to the house, all three of us squished into Richie’s stupid car, the others following in Bill’s car, so we can spend the night at our house drinking and talking. Richie tries for an hour to get a karaoke session going, until Ben fireman lifts him out of the house and dunks him into the pool. He spends the rest of the night shirtless, trying to kiss me when he thinks no-ones looking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ve lost him to a loud conversation about conspiracy theories in the garden with Bill and Mike. I can tell that Richie keeps stoking the conversation from an opposing angle, to get a reaction out of Bill, by how quickly Bill’s hands are flying about as he talks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stan, Ben and Bev left them to it a while ago and are trawling through Richie’s DVD wall. I want to tip them off about the box hidden in the bottom corner, that’s filled with Richie’s Disney collection, but I don’t want to move from my hiding spot, the big pantry cupboard that I can almost climb into. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ve been on edge all afternoon, discreetly running breathing exercises when the attention isn't on me, aware that the invitation I extended could backfire spectacularly if I disappeared. That would really be a gift to Richie, having to explain where I’d gone in the middle of all of this, especially if I do it in-front of someone. I’m realizing that I might never be able to relax around my friends again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I consider hiding in the bedroom, I could pretend to be sick. No-one would deny a former hypochondriac a little time alone to lie down. If I didn’t think it would interrupt Richie’s night, I might do it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cupboard door swings open, and Bev is on the other side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How’s the divorce?’ She asks, both of us leaning back against the pantry door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s nearly done, I think. I hope.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s good. Right decision?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah. I knew that as soon as I got back to Derry and remembered you all. Saw Richie.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You look like a different man,’ Bev says, rubbing my shoulder. ‘You look happy.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m surprised she would say that, with how out of my mind nervous I feel. The past six months with Richie must be filtering through all that.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Things good with Richie?’ Bev raises her eyebrow, knowing before she’s asked, how completely gone on him I am. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Good.’ I laugh, embarrassed. ‘I don’t trust it sometimes.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He’s that good in bed, huh?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I blush and sway into her. ‘No. I mean- not no. Everything’s good, you know.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I do know. You have no idea how painful it was to say that about Richie’s game.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You can never tell him I said that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘As fucking if. I’m never repeating that. Happy for you though, both of you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah. Happy for you too Marsh.’ I nod over to Ben, who's crouched down in the corner, having won the secret treasure hunt. He stands up grinning, waving a Lady and the Tramp DVD at us. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Did you leave things okay with Myra?’ Bev asks, once she stops laughing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I swallow, and look to the ceiling for an answer I know I’ll never find. ‘I don’t know, actually, I’ve only spoken to her once since I got here. I don’t know if that was the right thing to do, but I can’t really ring her now. Not after months. I think things will be better for her. Like they are for me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah.’ Bev’s rubs her hand up and down my back. ‘Sometimes you can’t do the right thing by everyone else, you just have to do the right thing by you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie: </b>
  <span>I don’t remember how everyone leaves, or how I get to bed, I just know my head hurts. It’s gone 3am when I wake up, my body anchored to the bed like a dead weight, Eddie’s breath on my neck, like the waves on the surface of the water, pulling me into consciousness. I get up, my throat dry, being careful not to wake him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I let the stillness of the night wash over me in the kitchen, while I chug ice cold water from the fridge, beside myself with happiness having spent the day with my friends. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Thursday 18th May 2017 (Richie is 41, Eddie is 40)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> I’m in the office, reading a script I already know I want nothing to do with. I’m struggling with interest for any of the scripts I’m sent, and my recent auditions have not gone well, but I’m trying any avenue that keeps me in LA, close to Eddie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He interrupts me, bouncing on the balls of his feet, as the door swings on its hinges. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m divorced,’ he says, clutching a wide envelope in a death grip. ‘Can we celebrate?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He moves like a rocket through the room, plastering me back against the chair, in a hug so intense I can feel it when the tension starts to float out of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck yeah we can. Where’d you wanna go?’ I kiss the corner of his mouth and dodge out of his hold. ‘Mexican for lunch? Lets get smashed on tequila and call Bev!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie grabs my arm and shoulders me back into the chair, climbing into my lap, his mouth a heat seeking missile for my neck. I flinch away before he can kiss me. We had sex last night and this morning, and it’s too much. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s flattering to an unbelievable level that Eddie wants this with me, all the fucking time, but my tolerance has been wavering for a while, slower creeping up on my limit. This feels like the worst possible time for my body to finally give up the chase. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie climbs off me, retreating slowly out of the room. I roll the chair forwards to follow him, grabbing his hips gently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Let me explain?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie nods, his whole face turned downwards. He fills the silence before I do. ‘It’s too much, right?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes and no. I don’t not want you.’ Eddie nods, like he understands. ‘But my body needs a break sometimes. We have sex a lot.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We both laugh, just a little. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m too much sometimes, I can tone it down.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I squeeze Eddie's hips. ‘You, are not too much. The stuff you wanna do, or how you want this, is not too much. I love it, nothing else is in the same league. But you might need to sub me on the bench for your number two occasionally.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie looks puzzled. ‘Sub you out for a shit?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, your hand. Fucking hell. Your number two fuck buddy. This guy.’ I kiss his palm, and place his hand on my cheek when I’m done.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You are not my fuck buddy.’ Eddie finds a better use for his hand and pokes me in the forehead. ‘You are my boyfriend, my lover, my favourite idiot.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck, you’re mean. Good job you’re cute.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie hates that word, and tries to wriggle out of my hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sorry. Hey, are we good?’ I ask, once I’ve got him sitting on my knee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah. Can I still ask you if I want it?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Totally. As long as I can tell you when I need a time out.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie smiles, all crooked. ‘Deal.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How are you feeling about the divorce?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grins, looking away into the middle of the room, like he’s taking a starry eyed prom photo.  ‘Good. I feel ace, actually. Like, now that’s done-’ He gestures between us. ‘This is something we can actually do.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yep. We’re doing it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie lets me take him to lunch. We call a different Loser for each margarita I drink, and fill them in on Eddie’s new milestone. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Saturday 22nd July 2017 (Richie is 41, Eddie is 40)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> I wake up late, squinting in the sun, that’s found my face through the gap at the bottom of the blinds. Usually Eddie wakes me up when he leaves to run at six. He tries not to, but I’m attuned to the movement of him leaving the bed. I would prefer to wake, knowing he’s left me to run, rather than been pulled away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I usually roll over to his side of the bed and enjoy the warmth he’s left behind. Sometimes I fall back to sleep, but mostly I don’t, I lie face down, thinking about how lucky I am. Today I roll over and his side of the bed is cold, and I know that he’s not out running. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can’t take it for granted, that Eddie will be with me from one moment to the next. I don’t have the certainty of a notebook of dates like before. Eddie’s being taken away from me instead of coming towards me, and it feels completely different. I used to think his visits were a miracle, but now they feel like the butt end of a joke, made at my expense. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If I knew he was safe, it wouldn’t be so bad. The uncertainty is the worst part. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie returns while I’m cooking dinner for two, just in case. He hugs me from behind at the stove, pinching my hips. I slap his bare ass with the spatula, which he wrestles off me and throws into the sink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tells me he’s been in 2019, and thanks me for today, but I don’t know what that means yet. Every time I think he’s catching up to me, another part of him slips further away. </span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sunday 3rd September 2017 (Richie is 41, Eddie is 41)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I’m in bed with Richie, way before our usual bedtime. We’ve been here all day at my request, to celebrate my birthday.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I ditched my usual run, and woke Richie up with my mouth, which he was very pleased to reciprocate. After breakfast, we did the LA Times crossword together on Richie’s phone, and got further together than I normally do alone. We discovered my crossword hobby started with the book on our road trip, and Richie only thought to buy the book because I sometimes do the newspaper crossword when visiting him. It’s one of those frustrating, predetermined loops of behaviour, that I know about all too well, but set Richie off on a timeline breaking tangent again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We relocated to the couch in the afternoon, abiding by the no clothes all day rule I wanted. Richie spooned up behind me under the blanket, while we watched Temple of Doom, and stroked me off, teasingly slow, as soon as Harrison Ford took his shirt off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We ate take-out pizza for dinner on the couch, and a slice of cake each for desert, that Richie baked yesterday, when he thought I wasn’t looking. He stuffed forty-one candles into it and dimmed the lights when he brought it out. I’m planning to dunk his face into what’s left tomorrow morning, as penance for blowing out the last stubborn candle before I could get to it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We’re back in bed now, and I’m getting increasingly annoyed trying to finish the crossword, because Richie won’t help. He’s too preoccupied, kissing my stomach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m interrupted by a notification from Ben, before I get frustrated enough to give up. I slide the phone in front of Richie’s face, so he can read the message.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘They’re coming to visit?’ he asks, cross eyed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, for a week at Halloween.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay, we need costumes this year, then.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Really?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes, we’ll go to a party or something. Eds, you know what I’m gonna say.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t look anything like him.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie rolls his eyes half-way back in his skull. ‘Babe, you are him.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t rope me into your boner fest for Michael J Fox. It’s too fucking hot to wear a puffer jacket, and you will look horrendous in a grey wig. I do not want you goofing up in my face all night.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘One point twenty-one gigawatts!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Nooo.’ I push his face away. ‘And you’d have to shave,’ I say, pouting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Now we’re in it. Can’t go one fucking day without getting beard rash on your cooch.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You- you can’t go one day without licking a vat of saliva onto my stomach. What is this? Richie, I’m dripping.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ll give you dripping,’ Richie growls, mouthing my belly button until I gasp and giggle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What are we doing then? It has to be better than whatever the perfect couple cook up.’ Richie rolls onto his back, keeping his arm on my stomach, protecting his hard earned saliva pool. ‘If I concentrate super hard, I can grow a beard like that superhero fish guy. That movie is just about to come out too.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re sweaty enough that you always look wet.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eds, that means you’re the Flash. Yes! That works, he’s super speedy and cute.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I am not wearing lycra.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hit me then. What’s your plan.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Bill and Ted?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eddie,’ Richie laughs. ‘I’m gonna have to shave for that!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, Ted is scruffy.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m not scruffy.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You look like you have fleas sometimes.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Wow. You getting a perm then?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No. No wigs or shit.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The phone buzzes again. Ben’s sharing with me the real reason he and Bev are coming to LA next month. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hold the phone out again for Richie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What’s that? Concert tickets? Is Ben joking?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I take the phone back. ‘No he’s not joking. He got you one.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He got me a ticket to see Katy Perry?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes. With me,’ I reply, embarrassed at the grimace on Richie’s face. ‘And Bev.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, that’s not happening.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m going.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You want to go?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I like her music.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh, Eddie.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Shut the fuck up. Don’t make fun of me on my birthday.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Only your birthday for another ninety minutes.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I ignore him and reply enthusiastically to Ben. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Would you say… she’s your favourite artist?’ Richie asks, suspiciously coy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I wouldn’t say she’s anyone's favourite artist.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I thought I set you up better than this, Eds.’ Richie rolls back towards me, trying to watch me type. ‘Made you mixtapes, put some good stuff on there.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t be a snob. What sort of gay man doesn’t wanna see Katy Perry?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘A cultured one?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I angle the phone away, putting Richie’s ticket on the group chat for any takers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What are you doing?’ Richie asks, ticking me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Off. Get off.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you giving away my ticket?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s not your ticket, you don’t want it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No-one else will want to go. You’re gonna be third wheeling.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Good. Might get some fucking peace.’ I grab Richie’s hands and pin them to the bed. He goes still, pressing his face into the mattress. ‘Go back to this,’ I say, placing his hand on my stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The phone vibrates and we both turn to look. I try not to laugh, but it’s difficult. Mike wants to come. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, Mikey no.’ Richie rubs his face into the sheets in anguish. ‘I can’t hang out with you guys anymore.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You realize that Mike is my date now.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No. Okay, I’m coming. Mike can’t go, he can’t have my ticket.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s his ticket now. Get your own, we’ll wave to you across the arena.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie sulks, laying his head in my lap, as I run my hands through his hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We could go to a gig, a proper date,’ Richie says, kissing my hand. ‘It’s our anniversary next week.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We haven’t talked about it, but I knew it was soon. I was hoping Richie had a plan squirreled away for us to mark the occasion, but I guess not. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Whose playing?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I dunno. We could go see some comedy.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Is this your way of telling me you want to do an open mic?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ha, no, not really. Just thinking about you in the audience, all stoned faced, would probably be funnier than anything on stage.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You wanna take me out, to laugh at me?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie giggles. ‘You’re the funniest person I know, so, yeah, I do wanna do that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fine. I’m used to shitty dates.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We don’t have shitty dates.’ Richie sits, pushing my legs out, so he can muscle closer to me. ‘Do we?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘They could be more… romantic.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie smiles. ‘Thought you didn’t like that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I smile back. ‘It’s your fault. You put the idea in my head. ’</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Tuesday 7th November 2017 (Richie is 41, Eddie is 41)</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <b>Richie: </b>
  <span>I’m at a bar with Bill, waiting for the Katy Perry crew to join us when their concert ends. I’m feeling extremely sorry for myself for turning the invitation down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie left the house looking like a wet dream, in a tight t-shirt and short shorts, and a pair of immaculate white sneakers, he’s probably ruined on a sticky stadium floor by now. Mike’s been posting videos on his travel blog from the gig, of Eddie and Ben singing and dancing, while Bev cackles from behind the camera. Eddie’s picked up glitter from somewhere, a little purple heart painted across his cheek. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I feel lovesick, like a teenager again, even though I saw Eddie five hours ago. I kissed Eddie five hours ago. I thought I was done feeling this raw with wanting him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you okay?’ Bill asks, from across the booth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s not- you and Eddie are okay?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, yeah.’ I wave Bill’s concern away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’ve been together a while now?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘A year. Over a year.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t sound so fucking morose about it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m not.’ I rub my face, trying to shake myself out of my funk. ‘I’m really not. It’s fucking ace.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You celebrate?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘The anniversary? Yeah, I thought I told you. Er- we went for dinner, and to a drive through-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘They still run those?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, there’s one that does loads of Eighties movies. Took Eds to see Gremlins.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Surprised he sat through that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ha, yeah. I’m not allowed to call him Gizmo anymore.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You were never </span>
  <em>
    <span>allowed </span>
  </em>
  <span>to call him that!’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Took him to the observatory after that.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Griffith?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah. You used the telescopes up there?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, I’ve not been up there much.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s good, romantic.’ I wink, and Bill gags, leaving to get another drink, and wash away the bad taste I’ve left in his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I kissed Eddie so much that night. Before we left the house, as he was styling his hair in the bathroom mirror, in the car before we went inside the restaurant, in the car again at the drive through. I necked him into the passenger seat so good, we completely missed the end of the movie. At the observatory was the best. After we’d looked at the stars, on the way back to the car, Eddie had tugged me down a path, pressed me against a tree and made me crouch down, so my mouth was at his level, and kissed me again, until we were both shivering in the night air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The group enter the room in a burst of noise, and meet Bill at the bar, completely missing me. Eddie’s buzzing, almost bouncing as he talks whip fast to Ben. I remember that they kissed in Derry, and it sends a slice of something dark and dense through me, that I know is unjustified. I stew in it anyway, until Eddie starts searching for me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Where’s Richie?’ He tiptoes over the crowd. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bev finds me first. ‘Boo, he’s over there. Boooo, no fun Richie.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie walks over backwards, laughing and still talking to Ben. I pull him in close to me, an arm around his waist, wanting to press my face into his back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slaps a cap onto my head, smoothing my hair down underneath the peak, so it sits flat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It says Goddess,’ Ben slurs, pointing to the hat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s me, alright.’ I point to Mike, as he walks over. ‘Take our photo.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, no no,’ Eddie gripes, trying to storm out of the way. I hold him tight and grin, peering out from the side of his hip as Mike snaps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Where'd you get this?’ I ask, pinching his cheek, next to the glitter, wanting to know the story and draw his attention back to me in one neat swoop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh my god, cutest story,’ Bev interjects. ‘Group of girls behind us took one look at Eddie and fell in love. Begged him to let them paint his face.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘They did not.’ Eddie squirms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Totally smitten,’ Ben confirms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Of course they did,’ I say, shuffling over so Eddie can sit down. ‘Eddie’s always been a teenage heartthrob. It’s those big brown eyes and dangerous legs.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No.’ He shoves the cap down my face, knocking my glasses. ‘They were very sweet, so I let them.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘None of us got a heart though, Eddie,’ Mike teases, earning himself the middle finger.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I couldn’t tell when he was standing up, but Eddie’s shaking like a leaf. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you okay?’ I whisper to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Uh huh.’ He’s not looking at me, eyes glassy, smile’s not reaching past his teeth. He’s gone full Jack Torrance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes my phone off the table and types me a message, asking me to be cool and help him slow down his breathing. I’ve totally misread this. He’s not excited at all, he’s terrified. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We stay another hour, Eddie sandwiched to my side, my hand on his hip, rubbing up and down in the tempo we’re both trying to inhale and exhale. Eddie makes it into the house before he goes. I kick his clothes into the hallway cupboard, while Bev and Ben are distracted in the kitchen, internally grateful they didn’t see him vanish. I have to lie and say he’s gone to bed, when they realize he’s gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie comes back in the middle of the night. He's freaked about what a close call we had, muttering to himself about his lifelong hated of crowds as he spoons up behind me, cold feet wedged between my legs for warmth.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Monday 25th December 2017 (Richie is 41, Eddie is 41)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie: </b>
  <span>Today has been the best Christmas I can remember. I’ve always spent the day mourning my Dad, or trying to shield myself from Myra’s family. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I missed it last year, wasted a day walking around New York in 2014, instead of at home with Richie. I know he’s still sore about spending last year alone, but we made up for it today, eating junk food inside our gaming fort on the couch, opening stupid presents we both said we weren’t buying each other, and calling the other Losers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stan’s declined Richie’s video call four times now, so Richie’s resorted to a regular phone call after much complaining. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He puts the phone down on the coffee table in front of us. ‘I’m putting you on speaker, seeing as I can’t see your face. Blocked and reported-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hi Stan,’ I say, cutting Richie off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey Eddie.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Merry Christmas ya filthy animals!’ Richie yells. ‘Put Patty on speaker too.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘She’s on the phone to her Mom.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, Stan, I miss her.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’ve never met her.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Whose fault is that. Don’t be jealous of the thing we have.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I really don’t want to know what that means.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s talking about the group chat he has with Patty and Bev, which is mainly dog photos and shirtless magazine spreads of Robert Pattinson, that I’m a frequent lurker to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tell me what you got from Santa, Staniel the manial.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie is four whiskeys deep and it shows. His hand is making neat work of creasing up my t-shirt, where it’s spread over my back. I’m watching his tongue, as it keeps darting out to wet his lips, hoping it’s a sign that we’re going for round two today. I haven’t left the house since this morning, and I’m feeling it. It’s in Richie’s court though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I loved my present, thank you both.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Did you like the photo?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie and I got Stan a custom made puzzle, using a picture of the seven of us from the photo booth in summer 1989. Richie got himself a mug at the same time, that he wrapped and put under the tree, and we pretended was a gift from me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s very nostalgic.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I got a mug from Eddie, same photo.’ He winks at me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Rich, I can’t talk for much longer.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You just got here.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know, but it’s late. I’ll call you properly tomorrow, but can you take me off speaker a minute?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie sobers like a shot, taking the phone out of the room with him. He stands in the hallway, kneading his hair into a hot mess at the back of his head, while he talks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hands the phone to me when he comes back, and I say bye to Stan. Richie sits at the opposite side of the couch, his toes slid under my bum. He’s worried about something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What was that about?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Stan was er- checking in. I should have told you. Sorry, I’m sorry. He called me, a few weeks ago, when you were gone for five days, I was freaking out, thought you might not be coming back. He caught me in a bad moment.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My mind goes completely calm. He told Stan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I didn’t tell him anything, but he could tell I was spooked. Kept saying I should talk to you when you came home, about whatever the problem was.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He knew I wasn’t at home?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He thinks we had a bad argument. I tried to keep it vague, but he kept asking to speak to you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I rest my hand on Richie’s leg. ‘Do you always freak out when I’m gone?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks away, uncomfortable. ‘Nah, it’s usually fine.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You can say, if it’s not.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie nods. ‘Bev told him we were being weird after the concert as well, how you wouldn’t come out of the bedroom when we got home.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, it’s fine though, they’re used to us being weirdos together.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I guess.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I have another present for you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘More?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie wiggles his feet free, and shuffles around at the back of the hallway cupboard. I make a meal out of closing my eyes, and holding out my hands when he comes back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a notebook. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thought you should have this sooner rather than later. Start memorizing.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I flick it open. It’s mostly blank, but three pages at the front are filled with dates, and an address in New York I’ve never been to. A couple of the lines on the last page are smudged, but still legible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What happened here? Water damage?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie shrugs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Which one was your favourite?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He points to the second to last date. ‘This one was okay.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tell me?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie thinks about if for a while, his face soft when he pulls my feet into his lap, rubbing my toes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It was our first date.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I smile, moving to kiss him, but he’s pressing something else into my hand. A mixtape. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You said you busted your copy from playing it too much. Not that we have a tape player anymore, but you know.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘This it’s your copy.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, but it’s for you. Spaghetti Mix.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Guess if it’s in the house, it’s both of ours. ’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie lets me crawl into his lap and kiss him then, the notebook and mixtape pressed between us. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Tuesday 26th December 2017 (Richie is 41, Eddie is 41)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> It’s mid morning and I feel none of the usual post Christmas day anxiety. No unsavory argument, or passive aggressive comment to reply in my mind, while I spend the day avoiding leftovers of things I never wanted to eat the first time round.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s making breakfast, music cranked up loud, something rocky with high vocals, that he can’t reach, but thinks is perfect to sing along to. I’m putting wrapping paper and cardboard into the recycling, and stacking things we pulled into our gaming nest yesterday, that need to go back to their homes. The notepad Richie gave me is sitting on the couch, where we left it last night, something poking out of the back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I turn the envelope over, looking at my own handwriting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Rich, do you know what this is?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck, not really.’ He squints across the room while he plates up and kills the music. ’Gimmie a sec.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks the envelope over while we eat, the same way I did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Should we open it?’ I ask. ‘That’s my writing.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t think so. You were pretty adamant that opening it early would be bad. Like, biblically bad.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘When did I give this to you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘February 1994.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I flip through the notebook. ‘Friday 4th?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, I think so. You were super mad at me. Wouldn’t let me come near you, just yelled to get you paper and envelopes, then you gave me this and disappeared. I was gutted actually, I was gonna show you a song I’d learnt on guitar, can’t remember what it was now.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Well, this isn’t ominous.’ </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Friday 4th February 1994 (Richie is 17, Eddie is 49)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> Eddie’s already waiting for me in the clearing. I picked up burgers on the way home, hoping he’d be here, so we could eat them warm. I can see his cheeks and ears gone pink from the cold, as I get closer. I must have forgotten to leave him a hat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey Eds,’ I say from the top of the ridge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I throw my hat through the air towards him, but it veers away, landing by the other log. He’s looking back at me, livid, and I rack my brain, trying to think what I’ve done to piss him off. He can’t be this mad about a hat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t fucking come down here, Richie. I swear to you, don’t move.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Wha-why?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Doesn’t matter why. Just don’t.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I call his bluff and step closer, but he yells at me again to stop. I’ve never seen him this angry before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Rich, this is shit. I know it’s shit, but I really need you to help me out. Can you get me a pen, paper and some envelopes? I don’t have a lot of time.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I drop the burgers and go back to the house. He’s right, it is shit. I never know where he’s coming from, or what the fuck he’s been doing. Sometimes I get fun, giggly, stupid Eddie, who wants to listen to music, or talk shit about Star Wars, and get whipped to shreds at Super Mario. But sometimes I get this piece of shit, who barks orders at me like every other adult in Derry, and I don’t get a say in any of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie makes me leave the stuff at the edge of the clearing, and go back to the house for fifteen minutes. I pace in the kitchen, hoping this visit won’t end as badly as it’s started. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When I go back out, Eddie lets me come down to him, so he can give me an envelope with shaky hands. It says</span>
  <em>
    <span> ‘Do not open until 2nd January 2026’</span>
  </em>
  <span> on the front. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Keep this with the notebook of dates you have. It’s really important you give this back to me. Okay?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod, feeling scared. 2026 is thirty years away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know I don’t need to say this,’ Eddie continues. ‘Because you are really good with this stuff, I never tell you, but you’ve been so fucking great at dealing with all the weird shit I throw at you. But you cannot. Ever. I really mean this. Ever open that envelope. It will ruin things for both of us if you open it early. And I don’t want that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s face looks complicated in a painful way that I don’t understand. He looks older than I’ve seen him before, although it’s hard to tell for sure. This is different though, he looks different. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Promise me, Rich. You won’t look at it. Just keep it safe.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I promise.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie smiles, his face is still full of pain. I notice his coat isn’t done up properly and is hanging off his shoulder. He must be cold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eds, your coat.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks down, turning away from me. ‘It’s fine.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I look back up towards the edge of the clearing. ‘Hey, I got burgers, if you’re hungry.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s gone when I look back. Gone, and left me with a leaden weighted envelope of responsibility.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I eat both burgers in the spot he was sat. It’s still warm when I sit down, and I stay there for a while, in case he comes back. But he doesn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I tuck the envelope into the notebook when I go back inside, and I feel like something irreversible has happened. I can’t go back on the inevitable path to 2026, and neither can Eddie. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Warnings: infidelity, vomiting, panic attacks</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The bedroom lamp flicks on, as I open the door to find Richie sat up in bed. He fist bumps the air, and holds out his arm, as I lay down on top of him. </p>
<p>‘Who’d you ditch me for this time?’ Richie asks, his voice rumbling through his chest and into my cheek.</p>
<p>‘I don’t always see someone.’ </p>
<p>‘You don’t wanna talk about it?’</p>
<p>‘No, I do. I went back to 1996, saw myself at nineteen.’ Richie squeezes me, excited. ‘Annoying little prick, asked me endless fucking questions.’</p>
<p>‘Good practice for when you visit me.’</p>
<p>‘We’ll see about that.’</p>
<p>‘I mean, you told me some things. Tell me about nineteen year old Edward Kaspbrak. Where on the scale of cute to unbearably adorable was he?’</p>
<p>‘He was a bit of a mess to be honest.’</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>'E' rating is for Chapter 4 onwards, so this chapter is rated 'E'</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wednesday 24th January 2018 (Richie is 41, Eddie is 41)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> The house is dark and quiet when I get back to the present. I detour to the fridge before seeking Richie out, looking for my half finished pasta from dinner, which he’s saved for me in a plastic container. I inhale it in three big mouthfuls, leaning against the kitchen counter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bedroom lamp flicks on, as I open the door to find Richie sat up in bed. He fist bumps the air, and holds out his arm, as I lay down on top of him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Who’d you ditch me for this time?’ Richie asks, his voice rumbling through his chest and into my cheek.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I don’t always see someone.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You don’t wanna talk about it?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No, I do. I went back to 1996, saw myself at nineteen.’ Richie squeezes me, excited. ‘Annoying little prick, asked me endless fucking questions.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Good practice for when you visit me.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘We’ll see about that.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I mean, you told me some things. Tell me about nineteen year old Edward Kaspbrak. Where on the scale of cute to unbearably adorable was he?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘He was a bit of a mess to be honest.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I’m sorry.’ Richie ruffles my hair, stroking down my neck. ‘Hey, bet it helped to see you, and know everything works out okay. You told him that things are okay?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘They’re better than okay.’ I look up and catch Richie smiling. ‘I told him, but he got frustrated when I wouldn’t elaborate.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Hmm. I know that feeling.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Do you also get really pissed off when I won’t answer?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Sometimes. I think I mostly got sad. It felt really unfair at the time, that you knew all these things about my life and I didn’t.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I kept trying to remember how I felt at nineteen, when I had the other side of the conversation.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Oh yeah, you must have known this was gonna happen today?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I didn’t know it would be today. I forgot, actually, that I’d go back and see myself. I don’t always know exactly where I’m coming from.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You rarely told me. I could tell by your hair sometimes, or the lines here.’ Richie rubs the spot at the corner of my eye, catching my eyelashes on his thumb. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I couldn’t stop looking at myself, and thinking about you.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘What were you doing? You were at home?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘My dorm room at college. I was listening to your mixtape.’ Richie inhales, sharply. ‘I didn’t remember where it came from, or what Spaghetti mix meant, but I knew it was important. I didn’t want to let go of what it meant. I’d forgotten you, but I still missed you, if that makes sense.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yeah, it makes sense.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I think I was in love with you, when I left Derry-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Eds.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘-but I would never have called it that, at the time.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You don’t have to say it. Just because I felt like that, you don’t have to say it back.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I wedge my hands between Richie’s back and the mattress, his heart thumping loud in my ear, guiding me to say the words I’ve been feeling for a very long time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I’m definitely in love with you now.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Richie stills, his hands stopping midway down my back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Keep touching me,’ I say, when it becomes clear he’s not responding. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He laughs, pressing his face into my hair, making it wet. I shouldn’t have waited so long to tell him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I love you too,’ he says, slowly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I know. You show me all the fucking time.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Richie shakes, as I clean his face and kiss him. He swoons into it, and I make a promise to myself, to do everything I can to patch his pining, teenage heart, when I finally start visiting him in Derry. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Friday 23rd February 2018 (Richie is 41, Eddie is 41)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> Eddie walks through the door, sweaty and puffed from his run, but still catches my phone one handed, from across the room, not missing a beat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Mike’s moving to LA,’ I grin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yeah, I know,’ Eddie replies, scrolling through the group chat I left open. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t sound excited, but I am. It means LA is now the official Losers hub. Mike’s been freewheeling across the country since leaving Derry, and everywhere else has clearly proved inferior to the Californian sun, and the prospect of spending more time with Bill, Eddie and me. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You know?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘He told me at Katy Perry.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You’ve known since November?!’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie shrugs while typing, walking right past me to flop down on the couch. ‘I thought he’d told you.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I try to wrestle the phone off him, annoyed that he’s not giving me enough attention, and we brawl until he’s pinned under me, weaving the phone in and out of the path of my hands, like a freak squirrel, trying to keep hold of the last nut for winter hibernation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Can we give up the chase? Will you just get your own phone?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Richie-‘</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yeah, I know. You’ll fucking drop it, or swallow it when you disappear. Just get a cheap shitty one and keep it at home.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Defeats the point if I keep it at home.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I can feel a whine building at the back of my throat from wanting to win this volley so badly. ‘No, it doesn’t. It means I can still talk to you, when I’m out and you’re at home.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Why is this bothering you so much?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I look away, not wanting him to know how much I worry, every single time I come home. How I wait outside the front door, psyching myself up to deal with the hot slice of disappointment if he’s not there. It’s not that I need to know where he is, just when in time he is. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You have no idea how often I go to text you.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie scopes me out for a long moment. ‘That’s not the real reason.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Fuck, fine. I never know if you’re going to be here when I come home. And I don’t mean in a creepy way, just, if you’re talking to me, or texting me, then I know you haven’t disappeared. If I can contact you, I won’t need to worry about it.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You worry about it?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yeah, sorry. Sometimes.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘But if you could text me, it would help?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yeah. If you text me back, then I know you’re still here.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I won’t always be able to, even if I am here, if I go out and don’t take the phone.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No, I know. I don’t want this to be a chore. If you could, some of the time.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and sits up, pushing me with him. ‘Okay. You coming to lunch with Bill?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No, I’ve got a meeting. Find out some gossip on what Mike’s planning?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘He said he’s moving into a place in two weeks,’ Eddie says, waving the phone at me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Near us?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Nearer to Bill, but yeah.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘We gotta start laying it on Bev and Ben now. Get them to move down here.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Oh, I see how this works. I was number one, was I?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You’re always number one.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I chase Eddie across the house, trying to lick the sweat off his neck before he gets in the shower. He gives me a minute's grace, while the water heats, before I get shoved out of the bathroom.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When I come back from my meeting that afternoon, there’s a new phone charging on the kitchen counter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Saturday 10th March 2018 (Richie is 42, Eddie is 41)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> Richie was right about the phone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I should have been paying more attention. This isn’t like last time for him, he has no idea when I’ll be gone or for how long. Every time he came home it was like Russian Roulette on whether I’d be there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I keep the phone with me, whenever I’m at home, and text him back as soon as I can. The texts aren’t even checking in most of the time. We have a stream of consciousness going, just like we used to talk as kids, when we were high on sugar and the summer sun.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s texting me now from the supermarket, where he’s picking up supplies with Mike and Bev. I’m in Mike’s new apartment, unpacking books with Bill and Ben. I’ve risked bringing the phone out with me, trusting Richie will pick it up if I go missing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The thought of disappearing in front of the others has become such a constant worry this week, it’s turned into background noise. Everyone flew in on Wednesday, for Richie’s birthday, Patty included. She’s already left with Stan, but Ben and Bev have stuck around to help Mike set up his new place. I’m excited about Mike moving here, but it’s going to be another person I have to watch myself around. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Alphabetical by title or author?’ Bill asks me, hovering half way through arranging the first shelf.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Who gives a fuck?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Me. I give a big fuck.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’m calling Richie before Bill can finish. I mouth freak to him, as Richie picks up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Hey, can you ask Mike if he gives a single fuck, just one fuck, about how we organize his books.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Alphabetical by title or author,’ Bill yells. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Richie cackles, and repeats the question for Mike. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I cannot wait,’ I start, finger in Bill’s face. ‘Can not wait for him to say- huh.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bill watches, his tongue making the side of his cheek balloon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Mike wants them by year of release,’ I repeat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Bullshit, he did not say that.’ Bill jabs my face, trying to wrestle the phone off me. ‘Put him on speaker.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Call him, yourself, I’m talking to Richie. Fuck off.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Tiny fight, tiny fight,’ Richie yells, his voice muffled through the speaker. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bill relents, and calls Mike on his own phone. Ben comes back from making drinks, oblivious to the disruption. He’s halfway through stacking a shelf in a random order, when Bill notices and intervenes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I stay on the line with Richie, while he reels off bits about the shopping trip, until Bill starts throwing books at my head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Monday 7th May 2018 (Richie is 42, Eddie is 41) </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> I’m driving to Bill’s when Eddie disappears. We’re heading over for the afternoon, to help record the conspiracy theory podcast Bill and Mike have been making. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie’s refused to participate in recording, but decided he needs a break from work, and a laugh. We were listening to the first episode in the car, when Eddie got himself into such a fluff about the Illuminati debate, that he pushed himself into another decade. He’s told me not to wait for him when he disappears outside the house, but I sit on the side of the freeway for a couple of minutes anyway, just in case he springboards back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t come back, and I make excuses for him, some bullshit work thing came up, and wonder if I should tell Eddie about the unconvinced looks on both Bill and Mike’s faces. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>We spend a hilarious afternoon talking about celebrity death conspiracies, only stopping when Bill goes red in the face, after I bring up Avril Lavigne for the third time. I desperately wish Eddie had stuck around, he would have lost his shit, and not been able to stop himself from joining in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’m itching to text him, even though it’s unlikely he’ll be back yet, but his phone is in the car. I go in on Bill’s pizza order, when my phone pings with an e-mail.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’m shoes on, phone and keys in my pocket within thirty seconds. ‘Okay guys, see ya later.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You just ordered pizza,’ Bill replies, skidding through the house after me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Eat my share.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No. Richie. You ordered an entire extra pizza. With anchovies!’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Mazel tov!’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He slams the door behind me and I race home. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie’s waiting for me, shirtless and pacing in the hallway. He tries to hook his leg over my hip in little hops, simultaneously trying to climb me and drag me through the house. I lift him onto the kitchen island, so he can wrap his legs around me properly, without ruining my back, and he takes it as permission to make an absolute mess of my hair with his hands, and my mouth with his tongue. I’m so grateful I’m not spending the night alone, I’ll let him do whatever he wants. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Where the fuck have you been?’ he whines, holding my face, kissing me in between words.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘At Bill’s. Where the hell have you been?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Saw you.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘What? Finally.’ I tuck my head onto his shoulder, smiling. ‘At Christmas?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie’s limbs drop their urgency, falling away from me. ‘No, not teenage you.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Oh. Future me?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘2007. I saw you at The Laugh Factory.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I look up, confused. ‘You came to my show?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I saw your face goofing up a poster while I was walking around downtown. Tried my luck at the door, and they put me on the guest list when I said I knew you.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I must look stupid, blinking blankly at this revelation. ‘Did you laugh?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yeah, dipshit, I fucking laughed, you’re funny. That was your stuff?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yeah, mostly.’ I kiss him, feeling overwhelmed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘That’s all you’re gonna ask me. Did I laugh?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Shut up.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You had longer hair then.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I did.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie tips forward, making me crouch, so he can fully ruin my mouth from above. ‘Wanted to pull it while you fucked me.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You should have come backstage. I would have fucked you.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You wouldn’t have remembered me.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No, but I would have been all over you. Clear the bar if you were in it. Clear any room, any street, you are completely my type, Eds. I mean, it makes sense. All those garden rendezvous with these gorgeous things.’ I stroke up his legs, fingertips digging into the meat of his thighs, as if he didn’t know what I was talking about.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Are you gonna fuck me then?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Now?’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yes. I’ve been waiting here, while you’ve been cleaning your ass with a microphone at Bill’s.’ Eddie pushes me back to hop down, his foot on my chest. ‘I’ll do it myself.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No, I wanna.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I follow him, scooping my arms around him at the bathroom sink, kissing the back of his neck, as he lathers up both our hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Did you talk to me?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No. You were at the bar after your set, but I didn’t know if it would be strange.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You should. If you see me again and don’t think it would be weird. You could have seduced me.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie sets up the bed, while I dry my hands. We’ve been talking about this a lot, me fucking him, mentally edging each other when we’re in bed doing something else. It’s my favourite topic of conversation when he’s fucking me, which we’ve been blissfully doing for months now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie’s got a mental block going and keeps backing out at the last minute. I’m perfectly happy not to do it, if he never gets there. But I know how much he likes coming with fingers pressed against him, and I think he’s gonna lose his mind, in the best possible way, if we can get there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s kneeling, three fingers deep on his own hand, when I get back to the bedroom. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I was doing this before, after I e-mailed.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Wow. Okay.’ I smooth the crease of his brow with my thumb, where he’s concentrating. ‘Should I grow my hair?’ I tease.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yes.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I preen at how quickly he answers, thickening and tenting my shorts. ‘I looked a mess back then, do you like um a bit rugged?’ I tip Eddie’s head back to kiss him, as he pulls his fingers free, clutching at my arms and making me sticky. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He waves me over to the bedside table, where he’s got the porn laptop set up. It’s an ancient brick with a VPN, that Eddie only uses for porn. He brings it out whenever he wants to show me a new position, and so far everything has been very tender by porn standards, usually involving a lot of slow, soft kissing. I am very fond of the porn laptop.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I play the video he’s loaded and paused half way through. A pretty standard dick riding setup, that never gets up any real momentum, because the couple stop to kiss every twenty seconds. It’s perfect. Eddie joins me, watching over my shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You could have told me this,’ I say, turning to kiss his neck. ‘We’ve done this before.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Hardly. You got off straight away.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yeah, my back can’t handle it. You though.’ I slap his ass. ‘Strapping young man, bet you could ride me into the sunset.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You want to?’ Eddie’s wrapped around me, worried that I’ll say no. As if there’s a single universe I wouldn’t wanna do this with him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘We’re gonna need to stack up the pillows for my head, if you want to kiss me like that.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie throws the pillows into a pile with haste, while I shut the laptop and strip. He’s winding himself up to work through his nervousness, like he’s done the other times we’ve got this far. I think we need to bring things down an intensity notch. There’s plenty of time for a high octane fuck, but this isn’t one of them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I lie down, upper body propped up on the pillows, and Eddie kneels over my hips, rolling a rubber on me. I’d rather do this without, I’m a fluids man, and I’m frankly gutted Eddie still insists on using condoms during sex, but whatever gets him sitting pretty is how we roll. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Gimme that lube, I wanna finger you a minute.’ I rub Eddie’s back, while he sighs above me. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I’m good.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I know, I just like it.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie rolls his eyes and passes me the bottle. I go straight for three to match his stretch, and he rides my hand in soft, little circles. My mouth waters thinking about where else he’s going to do that in a moment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He whines when I pull out, like he’s forgotten he bitched at me a minute ago. I pinch his bum, settle my hands on his hips and wait. He stares my prick down, visibility willing it to shrink a little, but I know it’s only going to get bigger and harder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Just go with what your body wants to do,’ I say, lining myself up for him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sways, rubbing himself over my tip a couple of times, before sliding down half an inch. He’s breathing hard, his eyes closed, concentrating again. I rub the small of his back. He feels tight and liquid hot already, I may be evaporating inside him, which would be very anticlimactic. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie sinks down another inch, eyes flying open to look at me. I rub his legs, loving how they look spread over me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You forgot your hat,’ I say, trying to make him laugh, and relax. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Don’t.’ Eddie pops off, and leans down to kiss me. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘That was good.’ I wet his chin with my tongue. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Didn’t do anything yet.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Still fucking good though.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Hold it still,’ he demands, leaning back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie slides back down and moans. He does this over and over, on the same two inches of my dick, while I use every molecule of my concentration to lie there and take it. When he’s not sighing, he’s breathing out the first syllable of my name, like he needs to remind himself who’s splitting him open. He’s taut all over, from the pinch at the front of his hair, to the curl of his toes, and I cannot take my eyes off him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Last time you’re riding me Eds, forgot your lasso too.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sinks down on a huff of laughter, our hips suddenly flush together, and we stare at each other. Eddie bits his bottom lip to pieces, wide eyed, while I rub his belly, feeling electric. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Dick champ right here, ladies and gentlemen. Champion dick sitter in our mists. You like it, Eds?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He rocks his hips in answer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Fuck. Oh yeah. Yeah you do. You feel amazing. You just go for it, yeah, do whatever the fuck you want up there, you got the floor.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie grinds a hard circle, screwing up his face in a way I instantly recognize. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Oh, he’s going prostate diving, folks. Ambitious.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I’m almost there. I just- Rich-‘ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Lean back on my legs.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I support him with my hands, as he leans right back and grips my thighs. That must do it, because he throws his head back and shivers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘It’s wide, your dick’s so fucking wide. It’s- oh my god.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’m not moving, except to stroke Eddie’s stomach, just taking whatever he gives me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Thought you wanted to kiss me.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Wanted your dick on my prostate. Don’t want your mouth right now.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘My mouth is my best feature,’ I laugh. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No. It’s your dick. It’s definitely your dick.’ Eddie’s sweating now, his hair flopped all over his face, stomach tense and glistening. ‘I’m renaming you Trashdick.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Hell yeah, you are. Speaking of dick, which you seem to love, want me to touch yours?’ I rub over his head, where he’s leaking like crazy, coating my thumb. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Don’t fucking touch me,’ he growls, slapping my hand away, and ruining my plan to taste him. ‘I’m doing this.’ He demonstrates, rolling his hips in a slow, sexy tempo.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I love it when Eddie yells at me, especially during sex. It’s like grazing the edge of a toaster with a knife, and getting a shock. It makes me feel vulnerable and exhilarated at the same time, like I’ve chased the edge of something very dangerous and survived. He’s so beautiful like this, yelling at me, and rocking himself to bits on my dick. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie rolls forward, panting and shivering, so we can kiss. I’m still inside him, angle shallow, trying to lick into his mouth, but he’s getting in my way, impatiently biting me. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Hey you feral fucking goose. This face is loved by half a million twitter followers, I need these lips.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie rubs our noses together in apology. ‘Was that okay? I thought you’d be more-’ He shrugs. ‘Out of it.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I kiss the corner of his mouth. ‘Thank fuck I stayed mellow or this would be long over.’ I grind up into him, where he’s still rocking back and forth almost absently. He moans, and dips his tongue into my mouth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Feels really fucking good. Just cause I can still speak, doesn’t mean you don’t feel good. Can’t believe I’m inside you right now.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Hmm okay, you made your point.’ Eddie pulls off, nearly headbutting me, as he tumbles onto his back. ‘I’ve had enough of this.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Alright.’ I try to roll with the abrupt change of pace without showing my disappointment. ‘You still wanna come? Want my hand or something? Lord knows you’ve written off my fucking mouth today.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘What?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘What?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Are you not gonna finish fucking me?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You just said you were done.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yeah, done doing all the work. I didn’t open myself up on your dick for you to jerk me off. What do you think I’m doing on my back? Are you for real making me wait? Didn’t you watch the end of the video? Richie-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You are so fucking annoying.’ I slap his hands away from my hips, and re-slick my dick, pushing his knees towards his shoulders. ‘Hold um, gorgeous.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie does, and I rub my prick over his hole to tease him, while silently willing myself not to lose my shit as soon as I get back inside him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘What end of the video?’ I ask, kissing up his leg. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘They fuck like this.’ Eddie tugs my hair, so he can get at my mouth. ‘With kissing. They kiss.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I press back inside, neat and tidy into a space Eddie’s made for me. I tuck my arms underneath his shoulders and press forward and back slowly. We’re nose to nose, breathing together. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You want kissing, huh? What else do you want? Want me to try and find your prostate?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘What do you mean try? I just had it.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘We’re in a different position,’ I laugh, until Eddie shuts me up with his tongue. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Stop laughing while you’re inside me. It’s rude.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You do it.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Because you make me laugh. Stop it. Be sexy.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I blindly grab a pillow and lift his hips, to shove it underneath. He loops his arms around my neck so I can’t go far, and I mostly grind into him, shifting until I find what I’m looking for, and he pulls a handful of hair clean out of my head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Like this?’ I roll into the same spot again and again. ‘Motherfucker, you feel good.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Harder, fucking harder. Stop pulling back all the time.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘That’s what fucking is, you beautiful little shithead. You wanna get back on top?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No, stop teasing me.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I drive into him, as deep as I can go at this angle, burying my face in his neck, finally feeling desperate for it. This is doing it for me, the pressure on my cock, the noises Eddie’s making, his body pressed up the entire length of me, legs wrapped around my hips. He’s making the most perfect sound, high and whiney in my ear, as he begs me not to come. I slow down, so I can look at him while we move together. We both watch, where we’re joined, past where Eddie’s cock is hard and bouncing with our momentum. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yeah?’ I ask.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nods, and palms himself, pushing down to meet me, his tempo fast and desperate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You wanna come like this?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yeah. Wanna come,’ he pants. ‘Kiss me, I wanna come.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I grind into him, licking the back of his mouth, almost crying from how happy I am, that I get to have him like this. His fist moves fast over his cock between us, and then he’s coming, messy and noisy. He clenches around me, and I want to follow him, so I do. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie strokes my back, humming into my mouth as I try to lie on top of him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No,’ he giggles, pretending to push me away. ‘My stomach.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Hmm, don’t care if you’re covered in come.’ I lick his neck, and he shudders in my arms. ‘I live here now. This is my home.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>We stay nestled together, touching all over, trying to kiss around each other's grins, until I start to slip out. I touch his rim to check he’s okay, as he strokes my hair back from my forehead. I can’t help myself from licking his leg, the closest part of him to my mouth, as affection blooms out of me. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Stay there, I’ll clean you up. You want water or anything?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie looks at me sheepish. ‘Green tea?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Okay.’ I laugh to myself. ‘I’m gonna order pizza.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yes. Why did we do this before eating?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Fucking hell, you’re asking me?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie watches me from the bed, as I clean up our combined carnage, his face so soft it makes me want to lie face down on the carpet and scream, to alleviate some of the pressure building inside me. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I climb back into bed instead, let Eddie rearrange me, so he can lean back on my chest and sip his tea. He strokes his fingers up and down my arm, where it’s wrapped around him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Before you start gloating, yes I liked it.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I close my eyes, breathing into the sweet smelling spot behind his ear. ‘I’m too happy to gloat.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Good.’ Eddie presses my hand against his chest, blending our fingers together. ‘I want to do it again. Tomorrow.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Hmm, you’ll be sore.’ My voice sounds dreamy and far away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘And?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I jostle Eddie laughing, and he scowls at me, wiping tepid tea off his chest with the corner of the sheet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Don’t laugh, you like it too.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Not twice in two days.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie bristles, and goes back to stroking my arm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I cup his tea with my hand as I start laughing again, to save getting an elbow to the face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Why are you laughing?’ Eddie strokes my face, rubbing his knuckles up and down my cheek. ‘Honestly.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s such a tender gesture, when Eddie should probably be the one feeling vulnerable. It flicks a switch in me, turning my overspill from a giggle into a sob. Eddie’s used to this, getting cried on after sex. I make a wet mess of his neck, wiping my face, while he tuts. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘What’s got you tonight? Crying cause you don’t have free reign on being the bottom anymore?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yes, actually.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Idiot. We can add it to the Mario Kart winnings.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Winner gets to bottom?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Winner gets to choose.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Deal. Higher stakes than the dishwasher.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie tilts my head down so our foreheads can press together. ‘We’re ready for it.’ Then he kisses me sweetly, holding my chin between his thumb and forefinger. ‘I like this just as much as the sex, you know,’ he says, like he can read my mind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I nod, and clench my feet to stop myself crying again. ‘I like kissing you during sex,’ I say. ‘It’s good that you like it.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Of course I like it.’ Eddie teases my mouth open, pulling me over him so we can make out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Lots of people don’t like it.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Really?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Most people I’ve slept with, actually.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Well, I like it. I’m the only person you need to worry about.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I nod, furiously. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Get back between my legs,’ Eddie says, wrapping them around me. ‘Your new home.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I get him giggling beneath me, as I blow wet kisses across his shoulders, when the doorbell goes. I scramble for my clothes, while Eddie laughs from the bed, both of us caught out, forgetting we ordered pizza. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>We eat, pressed together in bed. A smile firmly plastered to my face, thinking about changing the sheets together, once we finish eating, now that we’ve got pizza crumbs all through the bed.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Friday 22nd June 2018 (Richie is 42, Eddie is 41)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I’m at the cafe by the dog park with Richie, sweating in the late afternoon heat, even though we’re sat outside in the shade. His hand is flying over the page of his jokes notebook, his tongue making a mess at the corner of his mouth, as I’m trying to muscle my way through the second half of today's crossword puzzle on my phone, but he keeps distracting me, chuckling at his own jokes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Richie slaps the notebook shut to grab my attention, but I’m already looking at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Oh hey. Did you finish one?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No, you’re distracting.’ I nod to his notebook. ‘Why did you stop?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I have a question. Can I use your name? I know you don’t want anyone to know who you are, but… I could use Eds?’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Can’t you just call me your boyfriend? You’re talking about this right?’ I gesture between us.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yeah, I’m talking about it. It’s all I’m fucking talking about, now that I’m out. It’s a goldmine of self deprecation, how could I not?’ Richie pinches his fingers together to kiss them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Good. Make it gay as fuck, and call me your boyfriend.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I’m not gonna be able to say that without the sappiest of all looks on my face.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘How you look when you say my name, then.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Richie pillows his chin on his hand, rolling his eyes to the sky, dreamily. ‘Eddie. You’re right, that’s way worse.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>We’ve talked about the tour a lot, but never about the content. Richie finally caved to his team's request to consider a new show. I’m disappointed for him, because it’s not where he wants to be, but nothing else he’s tried has come together the way he wants, and he feels at a loose end. He’s been very secretive about what he’s writing, and while I don’t mind if he talks about me in a general sort of way, I’m worried about being associated with him. What it would mean if I ever get spotted somewhere I’m not supposed to be, or I’m seen streaking across town. I have to keep a low profile, and I cannot be remotely famous. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>I glance at the notebook, where it’s blown open in the breeze. I thought Richie would be workshopping things off me non-stop, not able to shut up about whatever bit has been spewing out of his brain that hour, but he’s not shared anything with me. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Don’t peek.’ Richie snaps his fingers in front of my face. ‘It’s almost there, then I’ll show you.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘It’s almost done?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘The first draft, all the ideas. I’ll need to start saying it out loud soon, you are gonna be sick of it.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I pull a face on purpose, to make Richie laugh. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I used to do it in front of the mirror, but it’ll be so much better with you. If you want to.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Of course I want to. I probably need to hear it, so I can vet anything that sounds suspicious.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Richie looks at me confused, eyebrows engaged. ‘I’m not writing about any of that. You asked me not to.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No, I know. You might say something by accident, imply something.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Right.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I gesture out behind him, where a golden retriever is about to walk past. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He swivels, and lines up his hands to ruffle its fur. The dog stops to lick his hands, which he wipes on my legs under the table. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You wanna go?’ He waves the notebook in my face. ‘I’ll read you the horny bits.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘God. Veto. No-one wants to hear your terrible pillow talk.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Except you!’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I give him that one. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wednesday 16th August 1989 (Richie is 13, Eddie is 41)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I appear inside the most terrifying room I’ve ever seen. It’s filled with clown dolls and a large coffin, that I’ve been hiding behind for the past couple of minutes. I think I’m inside the house on Neibolt street. There’s a kid in the room, who looks just like me, calling Richie’s name and giggling. I realize with a sickening jolt that Pennywise must be here. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I watch as thirteen year old Richie follows the kid’s voice into the room, calling out for me. I want to push him back into the hall towards Bill, but there’s no way I can move without him seeing me. The door slams closed behind him, locking us both in the room.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I vomit in my hand, terrified that I won’t be able to protect us both. I have to remind myself that Richie’s going to be fine, he gets out of the room and helps me downstairs. He’s going to be fine, I just have to worry about myself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I can hear him breathing, short and scared, but still knocking on the face of a doll, like a fucking loon. I pull down the curtain behind me, to give him some light, and it tumbles to the floor in a pile of foul smelling dust. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The coffin lid opens, and Richie comes closer to look. It’s an idiotic thing to do, but we were so stupid and self assured when we were kids. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pennywise scares us both, leaping and slamming the coffin lid shut. Richie runs, and I follow, vaulting over the box and grabbing the clown by the collar, as Richie falls into the hallway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I punch Pennywise in the side of the face and it laughs, as I realize the mistake I’ve made, with a sickening thud of my heart, pumping my blood around my body for what could be the last time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pennywise dances back, away from me, wagging it’s finger. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Not today, Eddie.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It vanishes, to terrorize me in the kitchen, leaving me locked in the clown room to listen to us scream. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sunday 29th July 2018 (Richie is 42, Eddie is 41)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> I watch Eddie materialize next to the pool. He stumbles over himself, in his haste to march towards me, in the kitchen. He barrels into my chest, covered in snot and tears, shaking as he grips the back of my shirt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Wha-what happened?’ I ask, putting down my cereal bowl, so I stop sloshing chocolate milk all over his back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Neibolt.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Again?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I was inside this time,’ Eddie hiccups. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Fuck Neibolt. Stop going to Neibolt, okay?’ I take off my shirt so he can clean his face, and it stops me in my tracks, reminding me so clearly of the clearing visit, where he told me we were married, that I just stare at him blankly for a moment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pushes my face away, when I go to kiss him. ‘No, I vomited.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘As if I care.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I follow him to the bathroom with a glass of water, and wrap my arms around him while he cleans his teeth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You okay?’ I ask. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I was in the clown room with you.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I gag, and Eddie dodges out of the way of my dry retching.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Why the fuck did you go in there?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘That’s where I showed up.’ Eddie pulls me through the house, back into the kitchen, all rage and nervous energy. ‘Why did you go in there?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I thought I heard you. I went to get you.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘It wasn’t me, it was Pennywise.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I know that now. It fucking attacked me.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie spits milk while he talks, eating from my bowl. ‘Yeah, I saw.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Pennywise saw you?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie swallows. ‘Yeah, I ran after you, punched Pennywise, after you left the room.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Fuck. Why did you do that?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I just panicked. I saw It chase you, and I-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Don’t fucking do that again. We all make it out okay as kids, don’t go messing with that.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘As soon as you left the room, I knew I’d fucked up.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I scoop him into my arms and we stand pressed together. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Don't go being a martyr, Eddie.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Monday 3rd September 2018 (Richie is 42, Eddie is 42)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Richie</b>
  <span>: It’s Eddie’s birthday, but I feel like the one getting a treat. I’m laid between his legs in bed, with his blessing to touch him wherever I want. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’m trying to edge him, even though he won’t let me call it that. He does it to himself while we fuck, especially if we’re taking our time, so I know he likes it. I’ve been kissing him all over, occasionally stroking his prick, but never letting it go anywhere, and I can tell he’s getting impatient with me. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tugs my head back, from its current residence in the crease of his knee, a well worn frown on his face, that almost makes me laugh. ‘I know you’re avoiding my dick.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I lick his leg, while keeping eye contact. ‘I’m not.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Touching me anywhere is meant to lead there, you know.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I sit up, flicking my finger over my palm, like I’m skimming a book. ‘Hmm, can’t find that in the rules. Guess I’ll just go back to it.’ I lift his leg over my shoulder and hide my face in his knee.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Richie,’ he whines. ‘I’m leaking.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Straight for my weak spot. I drop his leg and lean down on all fours. He clings to me while I kiss his mouth, desperate to speed up his orgasm quest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You wanna come, Princess Peach?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yes, you’ve been down there fucking ages.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He must be very desperate, if he’s letting the pet name go unchallenged. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I’m gonna suck you, yeah?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yes.’ Eddie shoves my head down his chest, as he leans over the bedside table. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I suck his nipple, watching his hand loot through the drawer, so I can slap the condom onto the floor, before it gets anywhere near his cock.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Please, I’m begging you, Eds, let me do it without a rubber.’ Eddie grimaces and shakes his head, while I stroke his sides, and rest my head on his chest. ‘It kills me that I don’t know what you taste like.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Why do you need to know that?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I want to know.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘What if I taste bad.’ Eddie swallows. ‘Compared to other people.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Oh my god, you won’t. You taste fucking delicious everywhere else.’ I kiss his hip. ‘There’s no comparison. Ever. I’ve done this with one other person, and it was a long time ago. You don’t have anything to worry about.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie wobbles on the edge of a decision. ‘With your college boyfriend?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I nod, even though he was never my boyfriend. My face goes red, showing my embarrassment at the twenty year gap between relationships, which were long enough for this to be safe. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You might not like it anymore.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I’m gonna love it. It’s also gonna feel real fucking nice for you, when I play with your foreskin with my tongue. Can’t do that properly with a rubber.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie nods, and I lick his stomach in triumph, where he’s already made a mess of himself. The taste of him makes my head spin and my feet tingle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Are you sure?’ He asks, gripping my hair. ‘Even if I don’t do it back.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Oh, I’m sure. This is a completely selfish request.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He holds himself still for me, and I slide my mouth down, ruffling him up on my tongue. He’s salty and sweet, and it’s heaven. I moan around him, making my voice as deep as I can, so he knows how much I like it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie rubs his feet up my back and moans back, in a horny echo. He’s been hard for a long time, and he feels like velvet wrapped steel in my mouth. I don’t pull anything fancy, just suck him nice and slow, wanting to keep him pulsing across my tongue for as long as I can. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Oh my god,’ he pants, when I pull off to take a deep breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You like it?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yes. You had a good idea, okay?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I nose into his taint and pull his sac into my mouth, making him gasp, before putting the tip of him back into my mouth to swirl my tongue. Eddie flops back in a sprawl of limbs, from where he’s been sitting up to watch me. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Make me come.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Hmm, might just keep you like this.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Richie.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Things I like about Eddie Kaspbrak, his gorgeous tasting cock.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Get it back in your mouth, then.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I laugh, and swallow him down for a long luxurious suck, pulling off with a pop. He pushes my face away to impatiently stroke himself, and I suck around his fingers until he lets go. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Put your hands in my hair and I’ll finish you.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie slides his fingers deep into my curls and holds my head where he wants me. I suck, while the taste of him fills my mouth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Are you gonna swallow?’ He asks, stroking my ear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I hum, rubbing my thumb over his hole, and he can’t help himself. He comes, all for me, wiped clean in my favourite way possible. He tugs my face away, his hand on my chin, when he’s soft and had enough of my mouth. I rub my face into his stomach, content and happy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Look how tidy it is,’ I say, dancing my hand through the air by his groin, like I’m sprinkling glitter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yeah, but now we can’t kiss.’ Eddie bumps his hip, dislodging me, so he can roll onto his stomach. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Is this an invitation?’ I blow a raspberry on the swell of his ass. ‘Want me to eat you out?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Do not lick my asshole.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘One day I will.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You will not.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Let me come up there and kiss you. Your come tastes way better than latex, you always let me kiss you after sucking on a rubber.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No, it’s different. Go brush your teeth.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘When your ass is on display for me like this?’ I rub my face across him, cheek to cheek. ‘I don’t think so.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Please.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Lets make out on the couch and watch a movie. You wanna go to cinema Richie?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No, I know what cinema Richie means. We’re not watching a time travel movie.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Come on, you used to love them.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Before I started doing it myself! You don’t love them either. Remember how upset you got watching Looper?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘That was mostly because Joseph Gordon-Levitt was wearing a fake nose.’ I lick into the dimple in the middle of Eddie’s back, that I always seem to neglect for the juicer parts of him. He hums, reaching back to ruffle my hair. ‘I found a fun alien one for today.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No, not the Tom Cruise one. That’s about time loops, I fucking hate time loops.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Eddie, time loops don’t actually exist, as you are always telling me. Or... do they? Let's find out, with your friend, Mr Cruise.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Why is he my friend?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You’re the same height,’ I say, slapping Eddie’s butt like I’m playing the drums, knowing I’ve ruptured any semblance of calm we were coasting through. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You did not just say that.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie spins on top of me, pinning me to the bed and kissing me, until he tastes himself in my mouth. He pulls back, shocked and disgusted in equal measures. We gape at each other, both of our eyes comically wide, breaking the moment at the same time. I laugh, while Eddie gags.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I didn’t brush.’ I clamp my legs around him and kiss all the way down his neck before he struggles free. ‘I didn’t brush, Eddie. You kissed me.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Fuck you. Know what we’re doing now?’ He shouts from the bathroom. ‘We’re doing cinema Eddie.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Okay,’ I say, thinking that means Eddie’s picking the film, which is fine by me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Cinema Eddie, is where I tell you the endings of all the movies I’ve seen in the future.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yes. Starting with, guess fucking what, a time travel movie.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I cover my ears, leaning against the door frame. ‘Please don’t ruin the new Star Wars for me.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I’m definitely not the one that ruins it.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Wait, that has time travel in it?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No, but the new Avengers movie does.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You’ve seen the new Avengers movie? Fuck off. We were gonna go together.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘We do. Three way date.’ Eddie grins, his mouth white and foamy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Do not tell me anything.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shoves my toothbrush in my mouth, and we elbow each other at the sink. Eddie keeps going to say something, deliberately making it eligible. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Do not tell me who dies. Eddie. I’ll put clothes on. I don’t care if it’s your birthday.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie frowns and drops the act. ‘Clothes are non negotiable, I don’t give a fuck how many movies I ruin.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘If you value having this body on display,’ I say, following him to the living room. ‘Do not tell me what happens.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Does cinema Richie do popcorn?’ Eddie asks, rifling through the DVD collection. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I turn, and head back into the kitchen. ‘Fuck, I can’t make popcorn naked. It’s gonna spit all over my junk.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He laughs, and eyes me up, his tongue peeking out, and I realize his master plan this whole time. To get me naked in my backless apron. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Friday 16th November 2018 (Richie is 42, Eddie is 42)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> I walk off stage and beeline the green room, desperate to throw up. I’ve just finished the first performance of the new show, and it was the most terrifying sixty minutes of my life since Neibolt. I’m brushing my teeth at the world’s tiniest sink, thinking up a way I can use it to make fun of Eddie, when he walks in with Mike. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie takes one look at me and rolls his eyes. ‘You puke?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I shrug, fist bumping Mike. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘That was great,’ Eddie says, kissing my cheek. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘There wasn’t much laughing,’ I reply, after rinsing, so I can kiss him back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Man, a lot of people were laughing,’ Mike counters. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘The guy behind us was in the aisle at one point, it was fucking embarrassing.’ Eddie says. ‘No-one is that funny.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mike slings his arm around my shoulder. ‘I didn’t realize you were gonna talk about being a gay teenager. I didn’t know you were going through all that stuff when we were still in Derry, I should have been there for you.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Mike, no. No way. You couldn’t have known, I would have been mortified if you’d known.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You had someone though? Please tell me you weren’t on your own.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie and I exchange a look. ‘Yeah, sometimes I did.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mike nods, clapping me on the back. ‘The show’s gonna be great when you tour.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘The show will be good, the travel will be awful.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You’re staying here, right Eddie?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yeah. You know the flying thing,’ Eddie says, swaying on itchy feet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The tour is for two months at the start of next year, and it’s going to be fucking awful. We ran every possible scenario that could include Eddie, but he doesn’t want to spend weeks inside a car, and he can’t fly, so he’s not coming with me. We ended up stacking the dates, so I’m gone for the shortest amount of time, but it’s still nearly nine weeks apart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Have you tried therapy?’ Mike asks him. ‘Or drugs. You could just knock yourself out for the flight. I know it would be a lot of flights but-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie looks at me pointedly, while Mike rambles about drug therapy, and I know I’ve got seconds to shut this down, before he swiftly but brually ends both of us.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘What is it with you and drugs Mike, jeez Louise.’ I strip my stage shirt and Eddie throws me the clean one hanging up behind the door. ‘Let's go to dinner. I don’t want to have barfed my guts out for nothing.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie squeezes my hand as we leave the room, but I can still feel the tremor running through him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wednesday 16th January 2019 (Richie is 42, Eddie is 42)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> It’s the last day I’ll see Richie for nine weeks. He leaves this afternoon, to fly to San Francisco and start his tour. I kiss him awake, and stick my fingers in his mouth alongside my tongue, to wind him up enough into fucking me, face first into the bed. He’s tall enough that we can kiss while he’s inside me, if I turn my head far enough to the side. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Richie’s breathing quick and hard next to me, rubber still on his cock, his hands stroking down my back, where I’m curled over myself on the bed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Eds, you came right? Sounded like you came.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You think you’d be lying there touching my back if I hadn’t come?’ I roll on top of his arm, while he laughs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘That’s right. Forgot you’re not fucking shy about nutting one off.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Oh my god. Stop comparing me to a squirrel.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You text like one, you fuck like one…’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Do not finish that sentence. It’s 8am.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Don’t act like you didn’t  just wake me up, cause you wanted my dick.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I look away because he’s right, but I’m not going to confirm it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You shoulda let me go in bareback, I’d left you a leaving present. A little nut for later.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Richie’s wheezing at his own joke, while I’m both intrigued and disgusted about that idea, always have been. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Don’t talk about leaving.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You should come visit me, while I’m away,’ he says, kissing my forehead. ‘Did you hear that? Beautiful, time travel part of Eddie’s brain.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘That’s not how it works.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Oh right, yeah yeah.’ He slides down my body, kissing my cock. ‘Come visit me, while I’m away, beautiful, time travel penis.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I cover my face to laugh, while Richie holds my hips still to kiss me again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I’ll try. I promise I’ll try,’ I say, meaning it with every inch of my body. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Richie: </b>
  <span>I’m at the airport bar with Steve, trying to justify not smashing through the entire top shelf of whiskeys before my flight. I’ve not left LA yet, but I feel miserable. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Steve elbows me and I know from his face I’m going to hate what he’s about to say. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Rich, you can’t spend the whole tour this morose.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I know.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘And I gotta say, be realistic. This Eddie guy obviously isn’t into this as much as you are, if he’s not even going to visit you. He knows we’d pay for his flight, right?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I side eye him, and he swiftly walks away. My hand is clenched so hard it hurts. I order a soda and check my phone. I’m thumbing over Eddie’s name next to his most recent message, wanting to text him but feeling clingy, when he calls me. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘What’s best with stir fry? Ginger or garlic?’ Eddie asks, before I get a chance to speak. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You can use both,’ I say, closing my eyes. ‘You making honey soy?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yeah, I was gonna.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie sounds impatient, and I wish I was there to watch him flap around, making a mess of the kitchen and himself. I feel a rush of grief, from how much I miss him right now, and how much of him I’m going to miss over the next two months. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Just do garlic then, and use the runny honey at the back of the cupboard, not the stuff we have on toast.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Fucking- okay Nigella. Didn’t know there was special honey.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Don’t burn the noodles this time.’ I laugh silently to myself, hoping he does, so I’ll get to hear him complain about it next time we speak. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I’ll watch them. Are you boarding soon?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yeah, they just called us. I wanna start this thing, now that I’ve left.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yeah, hurry the fuck up, so I don’t have to worry about using the wrong fucking honey.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Send me a photo of your dinner?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Why?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I clench my jaw, hating how desperate I sound. ‘Dunno. So I can pretend I’m there, or something.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Alright. Will you call me later?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yeah. It might be late.’ Steve flicks me in the back of the head, trying to get me off the stool. I kick him, and turn away so I can whisper into my phone. ‘I have to go. Love you. I miss you already.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie says it back, I miss you, before we hang up, and a small, selfish part of me thinks this might be good for us. Maybe now he’ll know how it feels whenever he leaves me. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wednesday 30th January 2019 (Richie is 42, Eddie is 42)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> I’ve got my dick in my hand before Eddie picks up the phone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘What took you so long,’ he says, breathless.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Traffic was- Doing, what are you doing?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Three. Fingers. I can’t- Fuck, miss you.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Miss my fucking fingers more like.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘We’re staying in bed the entire day you get back. Don’t make plans.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Too late. Gonna romance you when I get back, that may or may not include a lay, you’ll just have to wait and see.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I am not waiting.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I can picture Eddie from the exasperated tone of his voice. It sounds like he’s kneeling, fucking himself down hard on his hand, and his wrist will start cramping soon. He’s let me watch, and talk him off like this a couple of times, when my bodies too strung out to cooperate, but we’ve been driving each other crazy anyway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I pause my own hand, wanting to talk Eddie off before I get close to coming. ‘What would you want if I was there now? Huh? Want me to bend you over, stick it on you?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You’re gonna come in me. We’re doing it. Can’t stop thinking about it.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I move my hand again, fast, no self control.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Spending all day in bed when I get back. Got it. Got it, babe.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Gonna ride you till I can’t fucking speak.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a thunk, and the wet sound of Eddie’s hand on his dick. He’s leant forward to rest his head on the wall, so he can use both hands on himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I’ll turn away from you, so I don’t get distracted by your stupid face. Make a mess of your legs when I come. You won’t be able to touch me, except for your cock.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’m coming all over my stomach before Eddie can finish. I don’t know why I thought I was gonna talk him off first. That’s not how this works. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Rich?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yuh huh. We’re doing that, for sure. You’re fucking dynamite, you know that?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie’s fist is still going, fast and wet. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>‘Know what I’d wanna do, if I was there now?’ I tell him. ‘I’d give you my fingers, and suck you really slow for ages and ages, until you can’t feel your legs, and you’re making that really soft, sweet, little ‘oh’ noise that you know I love.’ Eddie whines, and I rub my hand through the come cooling on my belly. ‘Then I’d swallow you down, once you were ready to come, only once you were ready. I’d kiss all up your tummy and chest, up your neck, kiss all the way down your arms, because I know you don’t like mouth kissing after I suck you, but I won’t be able to stop myself from kissing you.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I like mouth kissing when we’re talking about it,’ Eddie says, voice high.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘In that case, I’m kissing the absolute shit out of your mouth, Eds. You taste so good. I’d lick it into your mouth, share it with you.’ Eddie swears at me as he comes. ‘Hmm, that’s it. Bet you look good right now. All pink, and sweaty, and gorgeous. Send me a photo?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You first,’ Eddie says, flopping onto the bed, making a racket into the phone speaker. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I scramble for my phone, not wanting to miss the window where Eddie’s come drunk and amenable. He’s never said yes before. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Don’t include your face,’ he tells me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Paranoid.’ I spread my knees and snap a body shot, keeping my mouth in the photo, tongue out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie’s photo is a high angle, so I can see him from his neck to his toes. He’s loose limbed, sprawled across our bed at home, dick already soft and nestled against his thigh. His chest is blotchy and pink, sweaty all over. He’s perfect.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Wow, you’re hot.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I look the same as normal.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Exactly.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie goes quiet, and I’m not sure whether he’s looking at the photo of me, or doing something else. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I like yours.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I grin. ‘Yeah?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I miss you,’ he says, softly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I close my eyes, willing myself not to burst, with how badly I’m pining for him. We did twenty four years, we can do two months. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The phone sex is the only positive thing about this situation, not that it comes close to the real thing. I miss kissing Eddie the most. I miss watching him walk into the bedroom every morning,  flushed from running, and the moment afterwards, where he walks the line between getting back into bed with me, or dragging me into the shower with him. I miss cooking him breakfast, and watching him battle with the crossword, I miss watching his face from across the room while he’s texting, and the feel of his hands in my hair while we watch TV. I miss falling asleep with him next to me, his permanently cold toes pressed between my legs for warmth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>We talk for a while before I start to feel sleepy. Eddie brings up the visit to my parents in Chicago next week, that we’re all gutted Eddie’s won’t be there for. My parents always thought he was great, and Eddie likes them too. He keeps bringing up the visit, like a dare to his brain, to transplant him in Chicago at the same time I’m there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My parents have always been nonchalantly supportive, about what their generation would call my lifestyle choice, but they’ve been sweetly excited, and much more engaged, since I told them Eddie and I had reconnected and he’s now my partner. I suggested to Eddie that we invite them to LA when I’m back home, but he seemed more freaked about my parents being at the house, than going on another road trip. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I listen to him talk until I drift asleep, and he has to yell at me, to hang up and charge my phone, the smile in his voice crystal clear from two thousand miles away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Saturday 16th February 2019 (Richie is 42, Eddie is 42)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Eddie: </b>
  <span>I appeared on a busy New York street ten minutes ago, and started running. My feet are hurting from the freezing cold pavement, but I don’t have time to stop and check them. I need to get off the somewhere safe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I reach my destination and punch in the door code, stopping to catch my breath in an empty, narrow corridor lined with security lockers. I have a bunch of these, spread out across the city, all filled with essentials for situations just like this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I pocket cash and a spare ID once I’m dressed and my feet are checked, and go back out onto the street to find out what the date is. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’ve travelled four weeks into the past. I mentally run the tour dates, trying to remember where Richie will be. He was in New York around Valentine's day, so he might still be here. I flag down the first cab I see, desperate to go to the venue and check. I haven’t seen him for two months, and I’ll scream if I’ve just missed him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I see his name in big black letters, when we pull up to the venue and I relax a little. It’s late afternoon and the front entrance is closed, so I break in through a side door and search the corridors for the green room. I round a corner, to hear him laughing from behind a closed door, and I ready myself to throw whoever he’s talking to out of the room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Richie double takes, lurching to a halt on his phone call, as I close the door behind me. I hold my finger to my lips, so he doesn’t give me away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Eds, I gotta go. I know. I’ll call you later. Love you.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I lean against the door, watching, as Richie pockets his phone and prowls towards me. He brackets me in, and my heart rate doubles, as he licks along my neck to breathe me in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I fucking love you Eddie Kaspbrak. Hi. Hello. Where are you from?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘The future.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Richie smiles against my jaw. ‘You don’t look like you’re much from the future.’ He’s got searching hands under my sweater, stroking through the cooling sweat on my back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Mid March.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Am I back yet?’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Almost, the 15th.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I’m due back tomorrow.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I know. Don’t worry, I’ll be back before you.’ I need to be back before Richie gets home. I’m trying to turn his face out of my neck, so we can kiss. I want him to neck me absolutely stupid against the door, but he’s being stubborn. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Aw Eds, the time travel bit of your brain is so romantic. Coming to see me for Valentine’s day. Few days off though, bit wobbly.’ Richie laughs, and I squirm against him, my shoulders pinned under his weight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Kiss me, right fucking now.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lets me guide our mouths together into a slow kiss. We tease each other, before licking in to taste. Richie’s jaw is in my hands, so I can thumb against the corners of his mouth as he smiles, much too broadly to kiss me back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Do it properly.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Richie sets his mouth and presses me into the door, muscling between my legs to lift me up, so I can tilt his head back. He holds me there, letting me take what I want from his mouth, while he feels up my legs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>We pull apart wetly, with a knock at the door, when I’m moments away from dragging his hand to the front of my pants.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Go away,’ Richie giggles. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Sorry Mr Tozier. You wanted me to remind you to get dinner before the show. This is your window.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Okay, thanks. Sorry.’ Richie lets me slide to the floor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘It’s nearly six. You want dinner?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yes, I’m starving.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>We go to a pizza place, that I’ve been to on a date before, and I’m extremely happy to override the memory of. I plan to nap on the green room couch, while Richie performs, having seen the show twice in LA. He lets me kiss him before he goes on stage, ruining his makeup.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Not gonna be able to concentrate now. At all.’ He smooths down his hair in the mirror, missing a bit at the back that I’ve had my fingers through. I’m very pleased he’s taking on stage with him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Worth it?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘That’s not even a question.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Monday 25th February 2019 (Richie is 42, Eddie is 42)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> It’s my third day in Atlanta, a rest day, after two shows in the city. Stan’s taken the day off work, he has a whole tourist thing planned, but I’m exhausted, and just wanna hang out with him. The constant travelling and performing doesn’t help, but I’m also fed up with missing Eddie. He visited me last week, but it was only for a couple of hours. I feel like I’m back in my teenage routine, of counting down the days until his next visit, although now I’m counting down the days until I can go home to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stan’s changed plans at my request, and is taking me to the park this morning, which he says will be great for relaxation, but I think he’s taking me there to talk. I’d actually love to pick his brain. I need help with navigating Eddie out of the rut he’s in, where he’s convinced himself that talking to our friends about time travel isn’t an option. But I have no idea how to even approach that conversation, without completely giving Eddie away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie calls me while we’re heading out. I text him over the incoming call, to ask if he’s decent, and he hangs up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I think Eddie’s gonna call me back in a minute,’ I tell Stan, laughing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Please don’t tell me he was calling you for sex.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Look. You know Eddie. Anything worth an inch of his time, gets a hundred and ten percent effort, and we’re talking inches and inches here.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Richie.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘He’s a horny little bastard, if you haven’t realized this, I don’t know what to tell you.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stan sighs for a biblical age. ‘Get in the car. I hate you both.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie calls back when we’re pulling onto the freeway, and I put him on speaker. He must have started something substantial, that I really hope he’ll fill me in on later. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Stan's here! He’s taking me to see ducks.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Wow, you guys are acting middle aged,’ Eddie says. ‘Don’t fall into the pond with your useless knees.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I never said I was taking you to see ducks, Richie,’ Stan replies, the corner of his mouth upturned. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I looked up the park, so I know there’s a duck pond, and we’re going, whether Stan wants to take me or not.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie tells us what he’s been doing, while Stan drives, and it sounds boring as fuck. I tried to get him to help Bill and Mike with their podcast while I was away, but I don’t think he has. I think he’s been blowing off their requests to hang out altogether. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stan’s quiet as we walk through the park, leaving me to fill the silence, like he often does when he’s building up to say something important. I know all the Losers have noticed that something is strange, but none of them can quite place what it is. Ben and Bev tiptoed around it when I was in Portland, but never mentioned it outright, but I know Stan will be more forthright with me, and he’s getting frustrated with my avoidance to talk about Eddie’s weird behaviour. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Are you still having arguments with Eddie?’ He asks abruptly, while we’re walking through a shady path. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I stop, and Stan nods to a bench behind us, so we can sit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I’m not judging,’ Stan continues. ‘But sometimes you call me, and I can tell you're upset.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I nod, trying to disassociate, so I don’t have to deal with this conversation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I’ve tried talking to Eddie when I hear from you like that, but he doesn’t reply, sometimes not for days. And then he’s kinda defensive about it. I don’t know, am I being crazy? Is something happening? I wanna be there for you both, that’s it, that’s why I’m bringing this up. Bill and Mike said they haven’t seen Eddie the whole time you’ve been on tour.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I push my glasses into my hair, so I can cover my eyes with my hand. I don’t know how to cover for this. I feel like I’m wobbling, with one foot on the tip of a cliff, the other dangling over the edge, no idea how far down the fall goes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘He’s, ah-’ I rub my chin, stalling for time. ‘A lot has changed for him, I know for everyone, but for Eddie especially. You know his Mom passed, a couple of years before Derry?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yeah, I know about that.’ Stan places his hand on my elbow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘He needs space sometimes.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘He goes somewhere?’ Stan asks quickly, like I’ve just confirmed something he already knew.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yeah.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Outside LA?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No, he’s in LA still,’ I lie. ‘We talk about it, I know he’s gone and everything. It sounds weird, but it’s important to him, he needs to do it.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘But you don’t like it?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I laugh, but there’s no mirth behind it. ‘I hate it. I get why he does it, and I wanna support him, but it fucking sucks.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘That he goes?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘That I don’t know when he’s coming back.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘He doesn’t tell you?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Most of the time he doesn’t know, how long he needs.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stan’s face is soft and open, concerned. He’s not going to challenge my story. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘How often does this happen?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘He can’t help it.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Sure.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Every couple of weeks. It’s getting better.’ I flat out lie to Stan’s face and I hate it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘That’s quite a lot.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I know.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Will you tell me if it gets worse?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Okay.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Talk to me anytime, tell Eddie too, I don’t need specifics.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>We sit in silence for a moment, both of us looking down at our hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You wanna go back to the car?’ Stan asks. ‘You look like you need to cry.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I laugh, and he pulls me up before I can shove him off the bench. ‘Stick a finger in the wound, man. And fuck you, I always look like I’m about to cry. I wanna cry with some duck friends. Where are these ducks at?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘The ducks suck, but fine.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stan’s has a little bag of oats hidden in his pocket, that we feed to the ducks, side by side. If he notices me crying, he doesn’t say anything, and we don’t speak about Eddie for the rest of the day. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Monday 25th February 2019 (Eddie is 42)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I’m sulking at home, in the middle of a three day nesting session on the couch, wearing Richie’s sweatpants, because I miss him. I haven’t been sleeping well, without him, and I’ve been awake for most of the last three days. The insomnia has amplified everything, so I feel like I’m on a hairpin, constantly on the edge of disappearing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The doorbell filters through the haze of gaming music, and I realize it’s been ringing for the past couple of minutes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Eddie,’ Bill shouts, through the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Give me five minutes,’ I yell back, scrambling off the couch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He absolutely cannot come in here and watch me vanish. I waddle to the bedroom, holding up the sweatpants, so they don’t slide down my legs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bill must have found the spare key, because he’s inside making coffee when I come back out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Er, fuck you just walking in here,’ I say, leaning against the kitchen counter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You’re alive then?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Of course I’m alive. I text you back this morning.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yeah, but you’ve been avoiding me.’ Bill pulls me into a hug, so strong it winds me. ‘I was looking forward to seeing you all the time, with Richie away.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I hug him back, rolling my eyes at myself for being so defensive. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Sorry, I’ve been an asshole.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You’re always an asshole, this is something else.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I’m just-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Moping?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I guess.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Come mope at mine.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I’ll come over tomorrow, or something.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Come over now.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You’ve come to get me?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yes. Eddie.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I’m busy.’ I gesture to the couch nest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You’re blowing me off for-‘ Bill squints at the TV. ‘-Zelda. Fuck you.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Okay, just, I’ll come over, but I’ll run. I’ll run over to yours, I need to run. Wait a second.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I dash back into the bedroom, and bring a change of clothes for Bill to take with him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I’ll shower and change at yours.’ I slap him on the shoulder, trying to get him out of the house. ‘Okay?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You are so weird sometimes. How long will it take you to run there?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘A long forty-five.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Jesus, okay. I’ll tell Mike not to order food yet.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I wait until Bill leaves before letting the panic attack take hold of me. It takes fifteen minutes of breathing exercises and white noise for me to calm down enough to leave the house. I double back at the door to text Richie, and to warn him I might disappear in front of Bill and Mike, but decide against it. He’s in Atlanta with Stan. There’s nothing he can do. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I hate to admit it, but Bill was right to stage an intervention. The run and listening to him and Mike bullshit their way through a podcast recording proved a great distraction, and I feel much better by the time I get home. I call Richie, after flicking through his messages, all photos of weird things he’s found at Stan’s house, and made up ridiculous fake names and uses for. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Both of us are in bed while we talk, and I must fall asleep mid call, because I wake up in the morning, to sunlight on my face, and a dead phone next to my ear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sunday 17th March 2019 (Richie is 43, Eddie is 42)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Eddie</b>
  <span>: I jolt awake, back in the present suddenly, the sunlight across my face making me squint. I’m laid on my back on the couch at home. I must have fallen asleep in Richie’s green room in New York, and travelled back while he was on stage. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I sit up, spotting Richie in the garden, and curse myself for not being here when he got back. I flick on the TV, so I can check the date and know how much damage control I need to prepare for. It’s just gone 11am on Sunday, so he’s spent yesterday afternoon and night without me. Not great, but not horrendous. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s sat in his favourite spot, by the side of the pool, legs dangling in the water. He holds out his arm when he spots me, and I wrap around him sideways, legs tucked tight around his hips, my arms around his shoulders. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘New York?’ he asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yeah.’ I nuzzle behind his ear. ‘Sorry about the timing.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘It’s okay.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Sorry, I wasn’t there when you got off stage. That phone call makes sense now.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’d called Richie that evening, expecting him to be buzzing from the post stage glow like usual, but he’d been quiet, and just wanted to listen to me talk. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I’m so glad you’re back.’ I kiss along his cheekbone, feeling insecure by how subdued he’s acting. He hasn’t moved, except to wrap his arm around my waist.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I hate that in order to see you, I have to miss you at some other time.’ Richie sighs, pressing his forehead to mine. ‘Is it gonna be like this when you visit me in Derry?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I guess so.’ I ruffle the hair at the nape of his neck. ‘I really fucking hope I’ll still be here with you when that starts.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Richie squeezes his arm around me, and tilts his head to kiss me. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’ve never had to think about what I’m leaving behind. I’ve never been disappearing away from anyone that I cared about before. But Richie’s right. Every time I visit him in the past, or the future, I’m trading my time with him in the present. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Monday 18th March 2019 (Richie is 43, Eddie is 42)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> Richie’s been home for two days, but it’s the first time we’re eating breakfast together. He’s flipping pancakes in his underwear, while I watch from the kitchen island, and try to persuade him to give me a repeat of my birthday and take his underwear off. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Eduardo, your lust for my body amazes me,’ he giggles, speaking in a terrible French accent. ‘I will not take zem off.’ He whistles, and I hold up my plate to catch the pancake he flips across the room. It’s taken us months of messy floors to get good at this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I actually do need to talk to you about something,’ he says, speaking normally, and turning off the stove. ‘Probably shouldn’t be naked for it either.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘So, not a good thing?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Jury might be out on that one.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’ve been put in charge of the fruit and syrup station, which Richie side eyes as he sits down, trying to sneak a blueberry into my mouth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I can see your hand, dipshit.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘But can you see the blueberry? Did I get it in your blind spot?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘My blind spot is taken up by you. Can you spill?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Richie swallows, and looks back and forth across the room like he’s watching tennis. ‘Stan kinda rumbled us.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Rumbled? How rumbled? What do you mean rumbled?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Breathe, yeah? Eat this.’ Richie slides another blueberry past my lips. ‘He knows that you’re not here sometimes, but not why.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Fuck.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I think the others are probably aware as well. Stan said he texts you sometimes, and you don’t answer. He’s lined it up with the same time I’ve been calling him.’ Richie grimaces. ‘I call him, when I’m worried about you.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I shouldn’t have got a phone.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Richie’s face drops. ‘Don’t say that. Please don’t say that. Bill told him you avoided seeing him while I was away. Is that true?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I wasn’t avoiding him, I was busy with stuff. Work stuff. Fuck. What did you say to Stan? Why didn’t you tell me? You saw him weeks ago.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Richie starts shoving food into his mouth, like this conversation will go away if he can’t speak. He’s getting syrup all over his chin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Stop. Stop that.’ I take the fork off him. ‘I’m serious, Richie. I’m freaking out.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Sowwy. Sorry. I didn’t wanna tell you over the phone. I told him you needed space sometimes, to work through everything that’s changed for you. Moving to LA, all the stuff with me, and your Mom. I said you were in LA, but not at home sometimes. I'm so sorry, Eddie, I didn’t know what to do.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I tap my mouth, thinking for a moment, before I answer. ‘We can work with that. I think. Yeah, we can. It’s just a therapy thing.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I hand Richie’s fork over and we both start eating. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Stan said to call him if you want to talk,’ Richie says. ‘He won’t ask details if you don’t wanna share. He’s just looking out for us. Love that guy.’</span>
</p>
<p><span>‘I’ll call him later.’</span><span><br/></span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie smiles, all soft, and tucks a kiss into my cheekbone, smearing syrup all over me. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Don’t you think it would be easier to tell him?’ Richie asks, looking at his food. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I grip tightly onto my fork and keep eating, so I don’t have to answer him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tuesday 30th April 2019 (Richie is 43, Eddie is 42)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I reappear in the middle of the bed, which makes a pleasant change to the multitude of precarious places I usually materialize. I raid the fridge and drink half a carton of orange juice, while I check the date, and loop the house looking for Richie. I’ve been gone just under twenty four hours in the present, but it was three days on the other side. Three days of utter boredom. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Richie’s not home, so I run, dropping into a bookshop on my way back to the house. I was twelve pages shy of finishing an old John Grisham novel, when I got pulled back to the present. I finish the book, leaning against the back wall of the shop, putting it back on the shelf when I leave. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Richie’s sat at the kitchen island, texting furiously, when I get back. He abandons whatever conversation he was having when he sees me, and we make out, standing up and pressed together, until my stomach rumbling becomes too much of a third wheel. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He drives us to a busy Chinese place for dinner, and I fill him in on the past three days I’ve spent in his basement in Derry, hiding from his parents. It’s not the first time I’ve been there outside of Richie visiting years. This time was Spring 1995.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thursday 13th June 2019 (Richie is 43, Eddie is 40 &amp; 42)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> I’m cruising through West Hollywood, after meeting with my agent, an iced coffee squished between my thighs. I’ve been seeing them a lot recently, trying to get a gig in a writers room, something stable and based in LA. We tested it, and travel does not work with the life I’ve built here with Eddie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a commotion down the street, someone streaking, which is not unheard of in this part of LA. The streaker’s running fast, away from two guys chasing him. Something twigs in the back of my mind, so I take another look in the rearview mirror, and recognize him on a second glance. It’s Eddie. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I elbow the horn and pull over, swinging the passenger door open. Eddie’s fifty metres away, booking it towards me. I honk again, and yell his name until he sees me. He dives into the car, scrambling to shut the door, so I can drive him out of reach of the two guys still chasing him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Fuck you!’ He leans out the window to yell. Then he’s laughing, and grabbing at my arm to shake me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Fucking hell, thank you.’ Eddie shakes me again. ‘One of those guys had a bat. I dunno why people are always so mad, I’m just naked.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You’d think they’d be delighted. I’m always delighted.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I pull over a couple blocks away, and Eddie beams at me, anticipating my question. ‘July 2017, I think I was asleep.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I remember that,’ I say, stroking his hair back, where it’s stuck to his forehead with sweat. ‘It’s June 2019. Are you good? How long were they chasing you?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Couple of minutes, you were quick.’ Eddie raises his eyebrows, ready to give me his best monotone deadpan. ‘Richie Tozier, you’re my hero.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I shove him, as he giggles. ‘What’s happening in 2019?’ He asks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Just been to a meeting.’ I check the time. ‘You’re working at home, probably.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Risk clients?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yeah. You’ve scaled it back a bit, but still loving a bit of the old risky business.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Thank fuck you listened to me and got rid of that stupid car.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie’s talking about my red sports car, which I sold last year, after a torrential downpour of bitching. I drive a wanky silver SUV now, which Eddie loves. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He eyes the coffee in my lap, which has leaked over one of my legs, so I hand it over. Eddie hands it back after taking a gulp, gagging.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Mint and coffee, what the fuck is wrong with you?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Fuck you. You weren’t even here!’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I can show up at any time, remember that next time you make a bad decision.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie leaves me with that ominous declaration, climbing over the seats to rifle through the trunk. I get an eye full of his ass and legs, and remember my yet to be voiced ambition to make out with him in the back seat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I don’t know if Eddie would be into that, or if I should be into that with him. He’s not my Eddie, not yet. Maybe it’s a form of cheating, to kiss him, while present Eddie is at home, unaware of who I’m with right now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Is this cheating?’ I ask.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie stares at me, a pair of shorts halfway on his legs. He must have started stashing clothes back there at some point.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Us, seeing each other like this,’ I elaborate. ‘Not that we’re doing anything. Emotionally cheating, or whatever it’s called.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I realize the irony of asking this now, after I dry humped Eddie against a green room door in New York a few months ago. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You can’t cheat on me with me,’ Eddie replies, looking at me like I’m dropping screws out of my ears.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Right.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Is this too weird? It’s too weird. I can go. Give me some cash and I’ll go.’ Eddie’s lacing up sneakers, not looking at me. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No. No way, man, I don’t want you to go. I just don’t wanna cross a weird boundary. You’re from two years ago, that’s the biggest time difference I’ve seen so far. Since Derry, I mean.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now I feel bad for present Eddie. I was gonna pick up lunch on my way home, but do I ditch him and hang out with this Eddie instead? Does this Eddie wanna go home? Do they hang out with each other?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘What were you thinking about? Before you asked me about cheating?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Nothing.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Liar. You looked like you were about to take off, your brain was spinning so hard.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You’re fucking mean today.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I just woke up.’ Eddie snaps his fingers in front of my face. ‘What were you thinking about?’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Making out with you in the back seat,’ I say, quickly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Get back here then.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘We’re in the middle of the street.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie sighs. ‘The windows are tinted.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I try to squeeze through the gap in the front seats, but it’s too narrow, I have to get out and walk around. Eddie nearly gives himself a hernia laughing at me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shuts the fuck up, when I press him down into the leather and bite his mouth open to suck his tongue. His hands are all over me, nervous energy put to it’s best use. He swears at me for tucking my vest into my jeans, because it takes him an extra three seconds to get his hands on my back. I relax into him, remembering how lucky we both are that he’s visiting me, and not somewhere dangerous. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Okay, we can’t do this in the street’ he says, pulling away with a wet smack. ‘I can feel your dick, it’s gonna impale me in a second.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I told you.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No you didn’t. You said you wanted to make out, not dry hump me. My back’s sticking to the fucking car now.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My phone starts buzzing from the holder by the windscreen, before I can shut him up. It’s Eddie asking if I’m bringing home lunch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘How does this work then?’ I ask. ‘You gonna come hang out with us?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yeah.’ Eddie laughs, pushing me off him. ‘I visit myself, it’s not weird. For me anyway, you look weirded out.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yeah. No, I mean, it’s fine. If it’s cool for you, it’s cool for me.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie doesn’t look convinced by my answer. I’m not convinced myself, but he lets it go. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>We pick up sandwiches and a salad, and Eddie texts himself, while I drive home. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Should we tell Eddie, other Eddie, now Eddie, that we’ve been making out?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I already know. This happened two years ago for him.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Of course, of bloody course it did.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Don’t overthink this. If it’s weird for me, I’ll tell you.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>We get home, and it’s pretty fucking weird. I couldn’t tell before, just being with Eddie from 2017, but watching them interact together, I can see a clear difference in age. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie, that I just came home to, who's picking all the bits of avocado out from the salad for himself, definitely looks older. He has an extra couple of crows feet at the corner of his eyes, that I like to think are from two extra years of laughing with me. He’s got some grey hairs at the back of his head, that swirl around the crown, that he hasn’t noticed yet. I’m secretly fond of them, so I haven’t told him they’re there. The freckles on his nose are more pronounced, they never really go away since we’ve been in LA. And he’s spent an extra two years loving me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Eddie’s are playing eyebrow tennis with each other, talking in a secret language. They both turn to look at me at the same time. Talking about me then. I eyeball them, but they don’t elaborate or loop me into their conversation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Younger Eddie yawns all through lunch, and leaves us to nap in the bedroom, while we tidy up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I don’t have to come here, when I’m traveling,’ Eddie says, bumping my hip at the sink, reading my discomfort.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I- just dunno what I’m meant to do, when there’s two of you.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You don’t have to do anything different.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yeah, but, what do I… which one of you do I kiss and stuff.’ I run my finger down Eddie’s arm, as a test. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He grins. ‘Both of us. Don’t act all coy, I know you’ve been macking me in the car. Didn’t you wanna do that with me when I’m not travelling?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I do want to. I fucking told you, other you, that we should have talked about this when we came home.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie bends over the open dishwasher, laughing up his spleen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I’m getting the red car back,’ I tell him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Do not.’ Eddie grabs the front of my shirt, pulling me into a filthy kiss. ‘Get with the program. I might be jealous.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘About the car?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘About the kiss.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You said it was okay.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘It is. Doesn’t mean I’m not jealous. Kissing a younger man is so cliche, Richie.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Would rather be kissing you.’ I demonstrate, and stroke his head, where I know the grey hairs are living. ‘Always.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eddie wiggles the car keys off the end of his finger. ‘Wanna make it up to me?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yes.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I walk him backwards towards the garage door, kissing him and trying to lift him up, so I can carry him, but he keeps slapping me away before I can get any leverage. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Go get the lube,’ he says, pushing me away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You wanna do it in the car?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Before I change my mind.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I sneak into the bedroom, where Eddie’s still awake, and watches me loot through the bedside cabinet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘What are you doing with that?’ He asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Never you mind,’ I reply, booping his nose with the lube bottle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He loops an arm around my neck, to kiss me before I can stand, making me dizzy with the attention. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Go home, you horny reprobate,’ I giggle into his mouth. ‘I’m missing you.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thursday September 12th 2019 (Richie is 43, Eddie is 43)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I come home to find Richie watching TV in his boxers. I’ve been setting up a new locker in Glendale, close to where I showed up last week, just in case I start appearing there regularly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Richie leans back over the sofa to look at me upside down, pointing towards the TV. ‘Eds, look at this.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s watching the news, where a supposedly expert panel are talking about Chrono-Impairment. The ticker at the bottom of the screen tells me the condition has been globally recognized as a genetic disorder, after years of research and debating, that I’ve avoided following like the plague. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Richie takes my hand, squeezing it and smiling. He thinks this is a good thing. I smile back, even though I don’t feel an inch of it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s a hot topic of conversation for a couple of days. Stan brings it up in the group chat, as an interesting topic of conversation, and I quietly worry that he's trying to smoke me out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But nothing changes. No-one comes knocking to take me away for tests, like I used to think would happen, when I was a teenager. Richie treats me exactly the same, and doesn’t press me to say anything to anyone, and for that I’m extremely grateful. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s a fortnight after the broadcast, and I still can’t shake the feeling, the same one I’ve had since I was a kid. That however far I’ve come in healing, my Mom was always justified to treat me like I was sick. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Warnings: vomiting, panic attacks</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>I’ve been trying something new when Eddie’s not here. I haven’t told him yet, but I’m trying to write a screenplay. I haven’t got anywhere yet, I’m just sketching out ideas and trying to find a home for some of my old jokes, but it’s a good distraction to funnel my attention into something constructive, even if it never goes anywhere. </p><p>Eddie’s been gone for eight days now.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>'E' rating is for Chapter 4 onwards, so this chapter is rated 'E'</p><p>The February entry references The Lighthouse (2019). This clip gives context if you haven't seen the film: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=28DQsoqtbHE</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Tuesday 21st January 2020 (Richie is 43)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> I’ve been trying something new when Eddie’s not here. I haven’t told him yet, but I’m trying to write a screenplay. I haven’t got anywhere yet, I’m just sketching out ideas and trying to find a home for some of my old jokes, but it’s a good distraction to funnel my attention into something constructive, even if it never goes anywhere. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s been gone for eight days now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was wrapped around my back in the kitchen, making a pest of himself as I made breakfast. And then he disappeared. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I answered the usual calls and texts from the Losers once they realized Eddie wasn’t here. I lie through my teeth to them, trying to sound as vague as possible, knowing I’m pushing them further away from me in the process.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I know there’s nothing I can do to bring him back. No amount of pacing or thinking him back here is going to help, but I do it anyway. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Saturday 25th January 2020 (Richie is 43)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> I leave the house after lunch with an overnight bag and a note for Eddie on the fridge. I can’t stand being alone at the house any longer, constantly waiting for any sign of Eddie returning is driving me mad, so I’m going to stay with Bill. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill tries to ring Eddie himself, convinced he’ll pick up if he calls him enough times. I don’t tell him Eddie’s phone is on the kitchen counter at home and not with Eddie, wherever he is. I hate the disappointed look on Bill’s face after the sixth call goes to voicemail. I don’t know what to tell him to fix this.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Monday 27th January 2020 (Richie is 43, Eddie is 43)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> The sun is starting to rise, turning the sky a dreamy orange hue when I get back to the house. Eddie’s still not here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I woke up with a jolt an hour ago, sweating through a very instant and consuming fear. Eddie could come back to the house at any moment, in any state. He could be injured and need me and I wouldn’t be there for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So now I’m back at home, still waiting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I find myself in the middle of the kitchen, one of the rare times I appear on my feet and stay on them. I drink a glass of water while I check my phone, clicking past over a hundred notifications to look at the date. My stomach plummets. I’ve been gone for two weeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie slams out of the bedroom, colliding with me in a rush of damp noise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are- you- okay?’ He asks, managing to talk and cry at the same time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m fine.’ I rub his back. ‘Hey, I’m okay.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie grips me tighter, his arms shaking. ‘I- wasn’t- there.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Anything could have happened- I wasn’t there.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You were there.’ I hold his jaw, as he blinks rapidly. ‘You saved me from the cold.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sits down on a stool, as I hand him my water glass and hold his nose for the hiccups.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I was just curled up with you on the basement couch,’ I say, stroking his cheek. ‘A couple of days after Christmas.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck. You saw me?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I saw you.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We’re the same height like this, when I stand between his legs, and I’ve got him exactly where he needs to be, safe and loved between my arms, just like he was moments ago in 1993. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie holds my hand softly, rubbing two fingers over the sensitive part of my wrist, smiling as he closes his eyes. I copy him and remove the distance between us. The kiss is wet and chaste, and Richie starts crying again before it’s over, but it’s exactly what I need. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It was so good to see you,’ I say, drying his face with my thumbs. ‘You were so fucking annoying-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘-but lovely too.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie laughs, touching his foot against my leg in the world's most feeble kick. ‘Teenage boys are not lovely, what the fuck.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You were, all pleased to see me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I couldn’t focus on anything else that week,’ Richie groans, his face turning pink. ‘I must have been so obvious.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No more than usual.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can’t believe it finally happened. Thank fuck.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Did Christmas happen after you came out to me?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s why you were shitty with me on Christmas Eve.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s face falls and I regret saying anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I wasn’t shitty, I was sad. I was fucking devastated. It was like starting from scratch again, like when I saw you at the Jade. You didn’t know anything.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m sorry.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie shrugs, jostling my free arm which has crept across his shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Were you okay when you woke up?’ I ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah. I was so glad I'd slept in the basement with you, I wanted to be with you for as long as possible.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know. I got so annoyed you kept leaving. I’ve spent way too much time in your basement alone.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Get used to it, we spend a lot of time in there.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If you’re there too it’s fine.’ Richie’s smile creeps up into his eyes and I relax, smiling back. ‘Hey, you wanna give me my hand back?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie shakes his head. ‘I did this.’ He squeezes my wrist. ‘Before I fell asleep that night, so we’d be in sync.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I touch my fingers to his wrist in return. It’s unlikely our heartbeats are or have ever been in sync, but it’s a beautiful thought. I kiss Richie’s palm and he tickles my nose with his fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You still tired?’ He asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, I think I stayed most of the night with you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I didn’t sleep much.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know, I could feel your heart going like a fucking car engine when you were lying on me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I meant last night. Here.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Richie, you gotta stop worrying about me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighs, looking at the ceiling. ‘I can’t. You see Pennywise, Eds.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I also see you, a whole bunch of times that haven’t happened for me yet. I’ll be okay, I have to be or you wouldn’t have seen me.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie looks back down, avoiding my gaze and drops my wrist. ‘I guess.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> I’m at the bottom of the garden, throwing a frisbee back and forth with Eddie. He tried to invite Bill and Mike over for dinner, an olive branch for being away, but they had some very choice words for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t get why they’re so mad at me,’ Eddie says, hand slicing through the air to hook the plastic disc. ‘Don’t they get it’s therapy related?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s not though and I don’t think they believe that anymore.’ I crouch to catch a low throw, that sails through my knees and sends me tumbling backwards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do they seriously think I’m- what? Cheating on you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wince, throwing back a high arc from the ground. I hadn’t even thought of that. ‘I have no idea. They’re probably spiraling because I’ve been vague with them. You know what Mike’s like.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We should come up with something more specific for next time.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why don’t we just tell them?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No.’ Eddie glares a hard line right through me, throwing the frisbee at my head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What’s the worst that’s gonna happen?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie stares in reply. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m serious, let's troubleshoot this. Worst outcome, go.’ I point and sling the frisbee back to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘They think I’m a freak and don’t talk to me again.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That won’t happen, because you’re not.’ I hold onto the frisbee like a shield when it comes back to me. ‘I’m way weirder than you and they still talk to me. Bill writes shitty books and we still talk to him. Mike stole from Native Americans and likes drugging people.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He drugged one person.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ben still studies in his spare time for fucks sake. And Stan, fucking Stan, competes in puzzle competitions.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie laughs and it softens all his hard edges for a moment. ‘You didn’t say anything about Bev.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, well, she’s perfect, I got nothing. If any of them, even momentarily, thought about not speaking to you again about this, I would pulverise them.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You have no stamina. How are you gonna pulverize five people?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Doesn’t matter, because it’s not gonna happen.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fine. I’ll think about it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m thinking.’ He points at me. ‘Throw it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you mean that?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie doesn’t respond for a full minute, then he nods once, small but sure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes a week of him apologizing for things to go back to normal. He reassures everyone his disappearances are therapy related and he’s working his way out of it, but I’m not sure anyone is convinced. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I worry about what will happen the next time he goes for such a long time. Not how I’ll cope, but if. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Friday 14th February 2020 (Richie is 43, Eddie is 43)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> Richie and I spend a lot of time at the cinema. Richie has a running bet with one of the cashiers at our local place, if he can guess what movie we’re seeing, Richie will shout him a soda. Richie hasn’t figured out I’ve been mouthing the film behind his shoulder yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We have our routine down. Get there early, make out through the adverts, fight through Richie’s insistence that I feed him popcorn through the trailers, which he inevitably spits out everywhere talking, but I do anyway, and then we watch the movie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We usually go in the mid-week when it’s quiet, but Richie’s made a fuss about Valentine’s day, so we’ve compromised with a late afternoon movie. I’d rather be at home if we’re celebrating something. Not that we’re celebrating Valentine's day. Richie has more of a rose tinted view of this stuff, but as long as he focuses his energy on making love to me when we get home, I’ll go through the ritual. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie usually likes to sit in the most uncomfortable position possible, squished against my side, with his head on my shoulder and my arm around him. He watches most movies sideways, like a fucking imbecile, just so he can get close to me. But today he’s abandoned my shoulder, sitting ramrod straight, eyes glued to the screen before we’re five minutes in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We’re watching a completely bizarre black and white film about two lighthouse keepers, although I spend most of my time looking at Richie, who switches between laughing with his head between his knees and gawking at the screen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And afterwards it starts, the voices and the line quoting, followed by an endless stream of giggling and jabbing me. I sometimes join in, but not today. I know by how keyed up he is, that if I give Richie a inch, he’ll never shut up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All though dinner he uses a fucking pirate accent. I’m used to embarrassing shit he does in public for laughs, but even he’s pushing the usual boundary with this. I’d never tell him, but I love how extroverted he can be, it means people are never looking too closely at me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s all over me when we get home. I pretend to be aloof, pushing his mouth away from my neck, while I drag him shirt first into the bedroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I knew you got turned on watching that movie,’ I say, folding my t-shirt. I turn around, finding him naked on the bed already.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you kidding? All that grease and sweat. Come here.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sit between Richie’s legs, my back against his front and he goes back to kissing my neck, peeling back the top of my shorts to look at me. ‘You know exactly what got me hot, but look at you. You got a crush on cutie pie Robert Pattinson too?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Get off my neck while you’re talking about another man like that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Will not.’ Richie licks me stupid and dirty. ‘He looked like you after you’ve been riding my prick.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My body betrays me and we both watch my cock visibly thicken. I try to squirm away, wanting to pin Richie to the bed and shut him up, but he’s holding me fast. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I do not look greasy.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Damn ye Eddie Kaspbrak,’ he giggles, accent back in full force. ‘Ye bodies like a siren to me sea worm.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Jesus fucking christ, would you shut up.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ll shut up if I can eat you out.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No. I haven’t-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie kisses my nose. ‘Haven’t what? Cleansed? Nuked your butt with soap? If you don’t need the toilet then we’re good.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I want to try it, in an abstract kind of way that doesn’t involve my own body, I’m just mortified he’s going to hate it and not look at me the same way again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m done joking.’ Richie shoves me into the middle of the bed on my knees and strokes my back. ‘Last time I’m asking, just know that I am desperate to do this.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can feel my legs shaking as I take my shorts off and go back to kneeling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie holds my hips, kissing across the small of my back. ‘I’m just gonna kiss you here for a bit.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He kisses me, all over my hips, down my ass and the top of my legs, while my cock throbs and my worry slowly evaporates. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie drapes himself over me, sucking my ear and stroking me, moaning when he feels how wet I am. ‘Where do you want me gorgeous?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Go back.’ I flop down, pressing my hot face into the sheets. ‘You can do it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie squeezes my hip, making a soft, excited noise. He dips into me with his thumb, as I push back, thinking he’s changed his mind, until he licks me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can’t process for a moment, I just feel, letting the sensation of Richie’s tongue, soft and wicked, wash over me. He moans and I snap out of it with a roll of my hips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He holds me still, the hard grip of his hands and his mouth slick and wet around me, the only things I can focus on. I feel like I have no bones in my body, just nerves, and all of them are being touched.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shouldn’t have resisted this. If there’s one thing Richie knows how to use it’s his mouth. He sounds like he’s having the time of his life back there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slows down and I know exactly what I want next, but he keeps going, slowly licking me, all the way from my balls to my spine, over and over, grin as wide as his dick. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hold him in place so he’ll go back to fucking me with his tongue, my hand a tight fist in his hair as he growls into me, leaning his weight on me and rubbing his hand through the sweat on my stomach, making me feel filthy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eds, you fucking like it.’ Richie wipes his face, laying his head on my back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No.’ I press my face into the bed, the flush dipping my body pink in betrayal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Your fucking loud mouth says different.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why are you stopping?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m not! Damn ye boisterous libido,’ Richie laughs, kissing his way back into position.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No voices in bed,’ I whine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck me, that’s pretty.’ Richie thumbs me again, where I feel split open and wet. ‘Please tell me I’m fucking you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I roll over, pushing him off the bed with my foot. ‘Clean you teeth, I want to kiss you, I want to- fucks sake. This is why I didn’t want to do this, Richie. Now I have to wait.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh wow, such a tough time you’re having. Did you not hear yourself just then? You are so lucky this is a standalone house.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What’s that supposed to mean? Hurry up.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m still on my knees and I want Riche to get back on the fucking bed already, so I can spread my legs over him and grind down on his cock until I burst.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You know exactly what it means.’ Richie dances his way back from the bathroom, taking his time. ‘You want it on your knees?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh baby, yeah he does. You want a rough and tumble don’t ya smalls. Well, you’re getting it nice and slow, Barry Manilow.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Shut up.’ I grit my teeth and shove my ass against him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey.’ He slaps my ass. ‘How many fucking times. I’ll hurt you if you just sit on it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What the fuck was your tongue doing if not opening me up. I’m ready.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It was giving you a good time.’ He slides two slick fingers into me and I sigh, leaning back against him. ‘I know it feels like a lot, but I can’t actually get my whole tongue inside you.’ He licks my cheek. ‘Just the tip. There you go,’ Richie says, touching me just the way I like it. ‘Let me take care of you, yeah?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah,’ I reply, pulling his hand away and trying my luck with his prick again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You want me to wear a rubber?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No. What do I have to do to get you in me?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Nothing. Just give me one fucking second.’ Richie slaps me again, slicking himself and laughing. ‘You lunatic.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The anticipation is sometimes the best part. Before the first slide in, when my body remembers how good it’s about to get. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Richie.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I turn my head and catch him looking at me softly, unguarded. ‘Yeah?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lick my lips and hold the head of his prick. ‘I want a goddamn steak.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh my god.’ I stroke him, as he shuffles forward on his knees, letting me line us up. ‘You’re doing a voice in bed.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If I had a steak-‘ I continue, sliding back onto him. ‘I would fuck it.’ Richie’s arms loop around me, pulling us flush together. ‘Yeah, I would fucking fuck it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We rock together on our knees. Richie can touch me everywhere like this. It’s perfect. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re fond of me lobster ain't ya,’ he whispers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I laugh, my stomach jumping against his hands. ‘Don’t.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I knew ye was fond of me lobster.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I groan, as he cackles, the momentum nearly tumbling me forwards. ‘I love your lobster, gimmie that fucking lobster.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m lobster deep in you, right- fucking- now.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘More.’ I push back hard, spreading my legs further, pushing Richie’s out with me. He’s not fucking me properly yet and I don’t like it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s all of it!’ Richie holds me, shaking with laughter. ‘I could not love you more, okay. I was put here on earth to fuck you senseless and absorb your sass.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t sass.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Watch this.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie pulls out and starts playing with the head of my prick, while I slap his chest for stopping. He rubs his thumb over my nipple, smearing pre-come everywhere. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What the actual fuck are you doing?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hold that thought.’ He dips me back, cleaning up the mess with his mouth. ‘I’m a fucking genius, that is delicious.’ He holds up his thumb, which is covered in me again. ‘You wanna try?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie smears it across my closed lips before I can stop him. We stare each other down, before he licks me clean and kisses me properly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I wanted to get fucked,’ I complain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re gonna Eds, but we don’t have to rush. We can, but I got all night.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I blink, remembering myself and feeling guilty about how single minded I’ve been. ‘Sorry.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t be. I still can’t believe I get to touch you like this. I love you like this.’ I tangle my fingers through Richie’s hair while he speaks. ‘I know orgasms are like crack to you, but it’s not like you’re gonna miss out if I slow down a minute to lick come off your nipple.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I liked that,’ I admit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie smiles. ‘I know. You’re so fucking sensitive. I get these ideas and I just gotta touch you in a different way, you know.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod, not really knowing. I rarely think about sex in terms of what might make Richie specifically feel good. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He taps my forehead. ‘Whatever I said that just made you go a mile back inside there, I’m sorry. I’m trying to say, you can let go sometimes, I’m not gonna leave you hanging.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stroke his chin. ‘I know that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Good.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We kiss, soft and slow, while Richie arranges us back into position. He touches me all over as he slides back inside, our mouths still pressed together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t touch my dick again until you're ready to come. Want to do it with you,’ I tell him, when we’re both panting and sweating with tension. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s hot. If you moan really loud again, I’ll be ready.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pretend to zip my mouth shut and Richie smiles. He strokes my neck and leg with his hands, grinding against my prostate and making me swear under my breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Guess I’ll just keep you like this forever.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You don’t have the stamina.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ll find some. Just to spite you.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I make sure he’s looking at my face and not my dick when I moan, outlandishly loud on purpose. Then we’re kissing, and Richie’s hand is on my prick, and we collide and expand together into something boneless and messy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s on his stomach, kissing my chest and running his fingers gently through my pubic hair when I register what’s going on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sleeping beauty’s back from the orgasm coma.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stroke his hair, too blissed out to speak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘So, I was thinking while you were passed out-‘ Richie starts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay, the afterglow just evaporated.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We totally have our Halloween costumes sorted for this year.’ </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Friday 3rd April 2020 (Richie is 44, Eddie is 43)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> I wake up in the middle of the night when Eddie climbs into bed and wraps himself around me. He’s cold, toes icy as they slip between my legs. I didn’t even realize he’d gone and he’s back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hope the small jumps signal something good. Like little earthquakes, relieving pressure under the surface and bouncing him straight back to me. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Tuesday 12th May 2020 (Richie is 44, Eddie is 43)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> Richie walks into the office, catching me with my laptop in my hands, midway through my plan to launch it at the wall in frustration.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do I have a face for radio?’ He asks, pointing at himself and ignoring me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Did TMZ call you ugly again?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, Eddie, they didn’t call me ugly, they called you hot.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Which implies that you’re ugly.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s so cute you’re still upset by this.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It suggests that I don’t have any taste!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie laughs. ‘You could tell people about my dick, then they’ll understand.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s not why I like you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s a big fucking lie.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Not the only reason I like you,’ I say quietly to myself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eds.’ Richie points again, his eyebrows dancing. ‘Do I have a face for radio?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh.’ I point back. ‘They hired you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods like a woodpecker and I’m in his arms, being lifted off the ground before he can speak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s been meeting with a radio station for the past month, pitching ideas for a show to them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He did a guest spot a few years ago, when he was promoting the tour and loved it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulls me onto his lap in the comfy chair by the window, filling me in on the three hour slot on Friday and Saturday nights they want him to host. He can’t stop smiling and I can’t look away, addicted to the look on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What were you mad about when I walked in?’ He asks, nodding towards the desk, where my laptop is offensively sitting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sick of it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eds, Don’t I keep telling you to take a holiday?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No point. It’ll still be bullshit when I get back. It’ll be worse, because then they’ll be a backlog.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t do it then. Nothing bad will happen if you stop.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can’t just do nothing, I’ll go insane.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘There is another option, you beautiful, pint sized grump. And I don’t mean your little lottery trick.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can feel my hairline prickling with sweat. ‘I don’t have a trick.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Come off it, you gave me one of those lucky tickets for my eighteenth.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck.’ Richie laughs at the panicked look on my face. ‘Richie, you can’t tell anyone.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘As if. When have I ever spilled? It’s not like someones gonna come knocking and ask me, it happened twenty five years ago.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m not doing the ticket thing, it’s too suspicious. I want a job, just not my fucking job.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’d be like one of those sheep dogs, alone on a ranch, climbing the walls without any sheep to-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do not finish that sentence.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie sighs and squeezes my hip. ‘You could do anything you wanted. Go- I dunno, teach kids how to run track or win an argument or something. You’d be so good at that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s called debating and I’m pretty sure you need teacher training first.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You could teach adults.’ Richie licks the back of my neck. ‘You’d be the sexiest fucking teacher, oh man. You could get your slacks out from the back of the wardrobe. Bet they’d be tight on your ass, now that I’ve fattened you up.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t want to teach. What fucking hang ups have you got, you weirdo.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘None. Running shorts were always my thing and you have made me a very happy man.’ Richie gets his hands inside my shorts long enough to tickle me before I can slap him away. ‘Seriously though, don’t make yourself miserable. If there’s one thing I’ve learnt from all that shit in Derry, it’s not to waste my time on stuff I don’t like.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You did the tour.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah and I hated it. And then I stood up for myself. I stuck to my gut and now I’ve got this sweet gig, where I can talk crap and play music and stay in LA with you. Go figure out what you wanna do, I got your back.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How are we gonna have date nights if you’re working in the evenings?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s only Friday and Saturday.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Those are date nights.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You hate going out when it’s busy. We always go out on a fucking Monday.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You better play songs I like.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I might. Hey, you’re my first listener.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’ve been making me mixes for the last thirty years, so I’d fucking hope so.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m telling my producer. Ratings scoop.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s not a brag, I’m your fucking partner. And if you think I’m tuning in and listening to you talk, when I could have three hours of peace, you are out of your mind.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie dips me back against the arm of the chair, kissing me quiet. I settle into it until he starts blowing raspberries against my lips, winding himself up for a bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘And that’s a Tozier tongue twister folks. Find out what else this mouth can do after a short commercial break.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay, enough. I am not kissing you if you’re gonna narrate.’ I wrestle free and go back to the desk. ‘Are you staying here while I call my clients and tell them to get fucked, or what?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie air fives me from across the room and I cut myself loose, one by one before dinner.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Tuesday 9th June 2020 (Richie is 44, Eddie is 43)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> It’s turning into a terrible week. I’m nervous about the start of my show on Friday, Eddie’s been gone since Sunday night, and Bev and Ben have decided to get married. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While I’m stoked through the roof for them, it’s obliterated the wall I built up to protect myself against Eddie’s silence on the topic. Maybe I’m worried for nothing and he’ll sweep me down the aisle in a fit of jealousy as soon as he hears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I cancelled Eddie’s therapy session when I got up this morning and was settling in for some mindless gaming to distract myself, when he bursts through the front door, naked and raging. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fucking red shorts Richie. You’re toast.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I leap to my feet, trying to put the couch in between us. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, no no, I was sixteen! Hormones!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie scales the sofa, furniture no match for his path of rage, and I spend the next ten minutes crying mercy into the carpet as he tickles me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gets dressed and raids the fridge, once he’s done torturing me, before jumping on the other controller while I fill him in on the news.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ben’s not messing around,’ he says, around a mouthful of sandwich. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Actually it’s Bev that’s not messing around. She asked him.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Nice. When are they thinking?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘September.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘This year?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, for their anniversary.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Rude, that’s also our anniversary. September is quick.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Not for them. Ben’s been in love with Bev for a long time.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t miss the irony. I could be talking about myself. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am </span>
  </em>
  <span>talking about myself. Eddie chews his bottom lip, not looking at me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Another road trip then?’ He asks. ‘I guess they won’t get married in LA.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I doubt it.’ I call it quits and abandon the game we never started to make coffee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I throw Eddie his phone. ‘Text them, before anyone gets suspicious.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie doesn’t answer but starts typing away with his usual squirrel like determination. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Thursday 1st June 1989 &amp; Friday 11th July 2020 (Richie is 44, Eddie is 12 &amp; 43)</span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I appear knelt down in a field of tall grass. It’s warm, so it’s probably summer. I haven’t looked up, but I feel a familiar sensation run down my spine, making the hair on my arms and legs stand stiff.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stay low, spotting myself across the field, twelve years old and terrified out of my mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t want to turn my head, but I do, the red balloon triangle swimming into my periphery. I know what that triangle means, that Pennywise used it to taunt both me and Richie in an especially cruel way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I watch myself scramble for the fence, as the balloons pop and I flinch up onto my feet. Pennywise has vanished. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I start running in the opposite direction to my younger self, through the field and away from Neibolt street, trying to figure out the safest place to hide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I turn around to check my back is clear and run straight into Pennywise, whose materialized in front of me. Pain slices up my arms as I struggle, claws holding me while It’s teeth extend impossibly out of its mouth. I shout and kick out, stumbling backwards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My head swims as Richie catches me a moment later, both of us screaming. I’m back in our kitchen, trying to scramble away from something that I’ve left in the past. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eddie?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Pennywise-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie looks behind me, alarmed, so I push him backwards through the room, not trusting Pennywise hasn’t followed me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘There’s nothing here. You’re okay.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shake my head, crowding as close to him as I can.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re safe, I got you, Eds. Shit, you’re bleeding, let me get you something.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I grab his shirt to stop him from leaving. He lifts me up, under the knees, taking me with him to the bathroom. I tuck my nose behind his ear and take his advice to breathe, trying desperately not to cry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> I clean Eddie’s arms while he sits on the edge of the bathtub, neither of us talking. I want to vomit my guts out to settle my nerves, but Eddie needs a brave face right now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cuts aren’t deep and have stopped bleeding by the time I’m done. He fights with me when I start filling the tub, until he realizes I intend to get in with him. It’s mid morning, the most bizarre time for a bath, but I need to calm him down. His chest is still jumping in tiny little hitches, ten times a minute.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m going to get the speaker,’ I say, once Eddie’s submerged chest deep and settled. ‘You want anything?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie watches me approach the door. ‘Chocolate.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I salute, leaving the door open and whistling as I walk around the house so he can hear me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I spoon up behind him when I get back. He’s been crying and tries to hide it. I have no idea why, the amount I cry in front of him. I don’t mention it, I just hold him and silently thank whatever weird part of the universe brought him back to me in one piece.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I couldn’t find chocolate, so I bought ice cream.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie peers over the side of the tub, turning his nose up at the pile of things I’ve brought him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘There’s one spoon.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t want any.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Liar.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I am lying. We’re going to share the spoon, but I’m not telling Eddie that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You can pick out all the cookie bits and I’ll eat the ice cream later,’ I tell him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie wipes his face on his arm and holds out his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Here you go.’ I hand over the spoon and the tub, lined up all ready with the first mouthful. ‘You want whale music or…’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Rain,’ Eddie replies, sucking the spoon clean. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I rub his chest under the water while he eats and we both try to hold it together. Eddie’s stopped crying when I start, my cheek pressed tight against his, watching my hands slosh around against his tummy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie pushes the spoon into my mouth to shut me up, making us both laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you wanna talk about it?’ I ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie swivels his head around on his neck, in a weird nod and shake hybrid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You were only gone a couple of minutes,’ I say. ‘I didn’t even get a chance to pick up your clothes.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It was quick for me too, five minutes maybe. Thank fuck.’ Eddie drops the empty tub to the floor and covers my hands with his. ‘I was in the field outside 29 Neibolt street, the first time I saw Pennywise as a kid.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘With the triangle balloons?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, that fucker. I ran away from the house, but It saw me, grabbed me while I was running. I only got away because I came back.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I kiss Eddie’s shoulder. ‘Whatever you did or thought about to get yourself back here, you have to do it again. Stop going back there, yeah? It’s over.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie tilts his head back, his mouth pinched in a hard, painful line. ‘It’s over for you, but not for me. This might never be over for me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> Eddie’s asleep in bed when I leave for the station that afternoon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I know he listens to my show, so I put the station on in the bedroom before I leave. He’s probably still asleep, but I’m playing songs for him anyway. Sally, my producer, noticed how distracted and downbeat I was, so we’ve maneuvered the planned show into something more mellow. I’m not doing the usual routine of features, but I’m taking listener requests and playing music to calm my soul. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Wednesday 26th August 2020 (Richie is 44, Eddie is 43)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> Things have been tense since Eddie saw Pennywise. He’s described it like being on a helter-skelter, getting closer and closer to something, but he’s not sure what exactly, or how far to go until he hits the bottom. Anyway we look at it, getting that close to Pennywise is not good. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The looming wedding isn’t helping either. Two days of travel and spending time with a large group of people is not a great cocktail of things for Eddie to have on the brain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I brought up telling the others, while we’re altogether at the wedding and Eddie has not taken it well. He’s stalemating me from across the room, angrily chugging ice water after running out his anger around the neighbourhood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re gonna out me,’ Eddie says, incorrectly reading my face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck you. If you think I’d do that you can piss off round the block again.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie stays composed, but relents something hard inside himself. He crossed a line he wasn’t meaning to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m frustrated we keep having this same fucking conversation, Richie.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Holy fuck, me too. I have it constantly with Stan, and Mike, fuck me, that guys a conspiracy nut. Some of the shit he asks me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Like what?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I count them off on my fingers. ‘Is Eddie part of a cult? Does he have a secret family? Has he joined the Church of Scientology?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He did not ask you that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Is Eddie an FBI agent?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘So everyone’s talking behind my back, you included. That fills me with so much confidence.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If they knew the truth we wouldn’t need to talk behind your back. And I don’t start it, I hate talking about it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘This is pressure, this is peer pressure. This is as bad as outing me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I get that, I get that I’m pushing. If they didn’t know you were gone all the time, if they didn’t ask about it. Eddie, if I didn't have to lie, </span>
  <em>
    <span>all the time</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I wouldn’t keep asking you, I’d just deal with it. But I hate lying, I’m so fucking bad at it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No you’re not, you’re the best bullshitter I know.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Lying about you isn’t the same as bullshitting. Mike’s off his nut, but everyone else thinks you’re cheating on me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘They do not.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘They do. We’re on thin fucking ice.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie waves me off, feigning nonchalance. ‘Tell them we have an open relationship.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pause before answering him. ‘Do we?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No we fucking don’t.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Then, fuck no, I don’t want to tell them that.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If it comes up, I’ll tell them at the wedding.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re just saying that to shut me up.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘For fucks sake Richie, I’m agreeing with you. I’ll tell them.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s not looking at me, but I’m still relieved out of my brain he’s changed his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you being serious?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, I told you I would think about it. I’ll do it.’ He walks into the kitchen, right past me, almost like I’m not there. ‘I’ll save everyone from your terrible lying.’</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Sunday 13th September 2020 (Riche is 44, Eddie is 44)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I’ve been bickering with Richie all afternoon about when we start packing for the wedding. We’re leaving on Wednesday, so I want to pack now, but Richie wants to watch crime shows and pack the morning we leave. We flipped for it and Richie won, so we’re spooned up together on the couch. He’s not really watching the TV, more interested in looking at the skin of my hand smooth and ruffle as he strokes my knuckles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ve been thinking,’ Richie starts, holding my hand tight against his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You won the coin toss,’ I sigh. ‘There’s no need for whatever you’re about to say.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Wouldn’t it be funny, when we’re talking to the others at the wedding, about you know what-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It won’t be funny.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘-if you just gap it, right in front of them. Fucking poof.’ Richie puffs up his chest and launches into an impression of me. ‘Hey guys, guess what I can do, and bam! You disappear.’  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Richie-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ll obviously pretend like I have no idea what just happened.’ He giggles. ‘I can search through your clothes, in case you’ve shrunk, looking for your teeny, tiny little body. Who do you think would be the most shocked? I think Ben would just shit himself.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You know it doesn’t work like that.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leans back against my chest, slapping my cheek when he catches me eye rolling. ‘Have you thought about how you wanna tell them?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So this is why he’s pratting about with a stupid story. I have thought about it and I have no idea how to do it. I don’t want to do it. I’m not convinced, despite all of Richie’s insistence, that it won’t unravel everything we have. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sigh. ‘I’m just gonna tell them when there’s a good moment.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘After the ceremony?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I guess, I dunno. There might not be one.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We’ll make one.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can’t force it. This isn’t your thing, okay, it’s mine. And they’ll be other times.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Other times?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That we’re all together.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie sits up between my legs. ‘That could be months. It could be another year.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s- I can’t just blurt it out.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re not planning to tell them.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t want to ruin the wedding with this.’ I try to take his hand, but he flinches away from me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eddie-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘They’ll look at me differently.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie stands, hands clenching on and off his hips. The disappointed look on his face makes me livid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, Richie, they will. They might not mean to, but they will. Like all the fucking PTA Moms at school, and all of Myra’s friends, when they thought I had god knows what wrong with me, extreme fucking OCD or whatever. I don’t want that in my life anymore.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How long did I look at you like that?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You heard. How long did </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> look at you like that?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t fucking know.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Is that how we used to look at you when we were kids? Is that how I look at you now?’ Richie’s voice has turned low and dark and I don’t feel angry anymore, I feel very, very calm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re different, it’s different,’ I whine, knowing I’ve lost control of the situation.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s really not. You actually think our friends will treat you like shit? After everything we’ve been through together.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Things will change.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fucking- yeah, I hope so, because this is royally fucked right now.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t want to be the sick friend again.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You never were, not with us. Never with us. And you’re not fucking sick Eddie.’ Richie swallows and shakes his head. ‘You’re just an asshole.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leaves the room and locks the bedroom door behind him. The sound of it shocks me, like a slap to the face. If he’d shouted, this would be easier, I could get angry too and we could volley it out between us. But this is different, like a frayed edge, tangled past the point of mending. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I give Richie an hour to calm down before I knock on the door. He doesn’t respond. I text him when I go to bed, asking for my toothbrush, which he leaves outside the door a few minutes later. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lie awake in the spare room, hoping he’ll sneak in and let me apologize. I don’t think I can sleep in here on my own, the bed doesn’t smell like him, there’s no prickly legs to slide my feet between, no broad shoulders to rub my nose against.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wake up alone the following morning and feel worse than I did last night, when I realize I’m still alone.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Tuesday 15th September 2020 (Eddie is 44 &amp; 46)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> Richie hasn’t spoken to me for two days. He won’t come out of the bedroom when I’m at home, but there was a mess in the kitchen when I came back from my morning run, so I know he’s awake. I’ve stopped trying to text or talk to him through the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I went straight back outside after I showered and I’ve been walking aimlessly around our neighbourhood for most of the afternoon, trying to keep myself occupied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I feel a hand on my shoulder and I’m greeted with my own face. I look slightly older, with a beard that’s patchy on the cheeks but full across the upper lip and chin. I frown and future Eddie laughs at me. He looks happy and it’s so far removed from how I feel it’s jarring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘This is the week Richie’s not talking to us, right?’ He asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘This lasts for a week? We’re driving to Portland tomorrow.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie shrugs, nudging me to start walking again, until we get to the coffee shop Richie and I go to on Sundays. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re buying,’ Eddie says, sitting down at a table on the street.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I bring back coffees and we stare at each other. I hate these pep talks, I hate giving them and I especially hate listening to them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re gonna help me fix this?’ I ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Maybe.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My whole body goes cold. ‘We do fix this? This isn’t-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s fixed. You don’t need to overreact and go into cardiac arrest.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why the fuck did you say maybe? Tell me what to do.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You already know.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I really don’t.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Richie’s been telling you for years.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I watch his face to see if he’s joking, but he’s very serious. ‘I don't think I can.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eds, you’re worried about the wrong thing. What Richie’s asking for is easy. It’s so fucking easy. He’s asking for both of you, you dumb fuck, you just can’t see it yet.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Stop trying to do things alone.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m not alone.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, but Richie is.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I close my eyes as the enormity of my fuck up washes over me. Those four words, coming out of my own mouth shakes something free, and I finally understand what Richie’s been talking about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘There we go, you colossal dipshit. If you love him, which we do, you have to do this with him.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Everyone’s going to hate me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘They don’t. They think you’re a nutjob for not saying anything, and for asking Richie to lie for you for years.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ve fucked up.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yup.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why do you look so smug?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Because you figure it out. You’re gonna rip the bandaid off and it sucks for a minute, it’s a big bandaid, but it’s not gonna hurt the way you think. There’s nothing underneath.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lower my voice and lean across the table. ‘I have- </span>
  <em>
    <span>we</span>
  </em>
  <span> have a fucking weird, dangerous, genetic disease. This isn’t a splinter. We haven’t fallen over and grazed our knee.’  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘So? It’s not going away. But right now you’re ditching your entire support network and hurting all the people who love you. Richie’s lying because he thinks it will protect you, but it’s hurting him. He’s got no-one to talk to.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He can talk to me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re not fucking there. Pull your finger out and do something good with this. Help Richie navigate his last couple of years in Derry when you visit him, and do what he’s asking of you now.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I feel like a piece of shit before the words are out of my mouth, but I can’t stop myself. ‘What about me?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What about you? You think having six extra people looking out for you is a bad thing? You think making Richie miserable is helping you? Looking after him is the best thing you can do for yourself.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He’s not miserable.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘About this he is.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I watch people walk past, carefree in the sun, and wonder how I got this so wrong. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tell me something good.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We have a dog.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We don’t, I’m allergic.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, you’re not.’ Eddie leans back in his chair, smile glued to his stupid, smug face. ‘She’s big, and smart and- yeah, fucking great thing about the future.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘She’s Richie’s dog though, right? I can’t look after a dog.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Nope, wrong again.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can’t imagine how a dog fits into all of this. I can’t even look after myself most of the time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What else?’ I ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘There’s a support group.’ Eddie gives me a napkin with an address written on it. ‘For Chrono-Impairment. Go and join it.’ I gape at him, genuinely shocked. Eddie stares back, eyebrows raised. ‘It’s the best thing we’ve done since coming out here with Richie.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re out of your mind.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We have the same mind, so…’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ll think about it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You sound like a broken record. You’re gonna disappear again before you get a chance to speak to Richie.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I groan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s pretty bad. It happens twice.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘When you get back you’re gonna fix all of this. Stop being scared and stop lying. And when you disappear, just- enjoy yourself, yeah?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How am I meant to enjoy myself? When do we ever enjoy it? Disappearing is gonna make this so much worse.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Make sure you look after Richie.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What happens?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s all I’m gonna say.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie spends the rest of his time telling me about Bill’s new book and refusing to answer any more questions. He disappears at the table before we leave and I follow a couple of minutes later, gutted that we’ve left behind a suspicious pile of clothes and I won’t be able to go back to that cafe anymore. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Thursday 12th August 2004 (Richie is 28, Eddie is 44)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I’ve been in New York all day and it’s been miserable. I showed up at the old house, hiding from Myra until she left and I could get dressed and round up supplies. I’ve been wandering around the city since, thinking about what I’ve done. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m gutted that I’m back in New York in the year I married Myra. The same year I spent in a self delusional haze, thinking I’d done something smart by building myself a support net, but really I’d just dug myself further into a hole of misery. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ve been walking one of my old routes through the city without realizing, following the neon signs into a never ending horizon as the sun goes down. I’d walk this route after work sometimes, when I couldn’t face going home. I’d have dinner on my own and try to convince myself I wasn’t lonely. There’s a bar across the street that catches my eye. I always used to double take it and I could never figure out why. But now I know. It’s a gay bar. A huge flashing siren that I was too dumb to read. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ve never actually been inside a gay bar, but I could go in now, try and figure out if I’ve already hit rock bottom. While Richie’s in 2020, not knowing where I am, I’m in the past, drinking in a room full of other men. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s noisy inside, even though the bar isn’t full, but I know this is a stupid idea before the door has swung closed behind me. I can’t drink and I have no interest in talking to anyone. Turns out I wasn’t at rock bottom, but this is probably it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I feel eyes on me from the bar. This is the worst idea I’ve had in years. I look up anyway, locking eyes with the only person sitting at the bar. It’s Richie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I walk backwards on autopilot, putting my head between my legs once I’m out on the street. This is the cruelest place my subconscious could have put me. I power walk around the corner, hiding in an alley to think about my next move. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I remember my own words, to look after Richie, but I don’t know how to do that when he doesn’t know me. I am and will remain a stranger to him, whatever happens. But I can’t walk away, I know, without a doubt, that I don’t want to waste any time with him. I can’t do anything for present Richie right now, but maybe I can do something for this Richie. I can show him that he’s loved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I walk back into the bar and take a moment to watch him. Richie’s talking to the bartender like they’re friends, giggling at his own joke, flushed across his cheeks like he gets when he’s at least three whiskies deep. He’s clean shaved, with short hair, although it somehow looks messier than I’ve ever seen it. I cover my mouth to stop myself laughing, when I notice he’s wearing both a t-shirt and pair of socks I know he still owns. He’s not as stocky, so the shirt doesn’t cling to his arms like a taut rubber band, like I’m used to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie looks up when I stand at the bar, kicking a stool unsubtly out of the way, so I can stand as close to him as possible. He swallows and grins, masking how nervous he is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You came back! You on a yoyo or something?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I laugh, too relieved that he’s talking to me to be embarrassed by how lame he is. ‘No yoyo. I had to... take a call?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No you didn’t.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re right I really didn’t.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grins again, free and easy. We’ve always been on the same wavelength, even like this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Did you freak out when you realized what type of bar this was?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m not judging, trust me, I’ve been there.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I didn’t freak out.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie nods behind me. ‘There’s a whole bar free behind you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m aware of that.’ I sway into Richie’s space, pressing between his legs while he watches me intently. ‘Can I just-’ I rock up, holding his jaw still and sliding our mouths together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I keep it soft and slow, and he’s happy to follow my lead. The only place he’s touching me is his mouth, which is completely at odds to how we normally do this. I stroke his jaw, while I suck his lip, wanting to make an absolute mess of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone whoops and Richie stops kissing to grin into my neck. I stare into the darkness trying to figure out who it was, so I can yell at them for interrupting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Did you win your bet?’ Richie asks, his breath tickling my ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Bet?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pull his mouth back to mine before he can answer and he touches me properly then, his hands fluttering against my back. We stay like that until my mouth feels dry and tastes of whisky, and I smile myself out of the kiss, flushed and exhilarated. Richie tries to follow me, pecking my cheek as I push him away gently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Now that’s a pickup line that’ll always work,’ Richie says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Who says I’m picking you up?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh, you need persuading? Brace yourself, I got a line for you.’ He props up his head on his elbow and blinks at me through a couple of seconds of anticipation. ‘I hope you know CPR, because you take my breath away.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie laughs before he can finish, as my eyes do a ferris wheel turn in their sockets. I hate and love him in equal measures. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I hope you know self defense, because I could rip your lungs out with my fist. I used to have fucking asthma, those jokes aren’t funny.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You are very hot when you’re mad. Let me do another one.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No. There is no way that works.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘First time I’ve tried it. This is more of an eye fuck across the room until you actually fuck, kind of place.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I let the sting of jealousy dissipate and realize how lucky I am I didn’t walk in here and see him with someone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know you just got here but do you wanna leave?’ Richie asks, biting his lip and looking away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I want to buy you a drink.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie shakes his empty glass at me. ‘I shouldn’t have any more if we’re leaving together, if you know what I mean. I’m good either way, I’ll take whatever this is. Holy shit, I’ll take a drink with you-’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We’re leaving together,’ I tell him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do we know each other? I’m so fucking sorry if I should know who you are and I’m just shoving my leg in my mouth right now.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hold his chin and kiss him, hating all the things that made us strangers at this point in time. There’s another me in New York right now, who was so close to Richie, but never knew it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We don’t know each other. I just saw you and...’ I shrug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How blind are you?’ Richie smirks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Says you. How fucking blind are you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You know that story about the three mice?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I slip Richie’s glasses off and put them on, going cross eyed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘See.’ Richie giggles. ‘Cute, you look cute. I look like Sally Jessy Raphael.’  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I haven't heard him use that one before and it makes me genuinely laugh. I put the glasses back, watching his mouth go soft and open as I rub my thumb over the shell of his ear. His hands are clenching and unclenching so rapidly I can see them in my peripheral vision. He’s lovely like this. I haven’t been paying attention to the right things. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I think you’re gorgeous,’ I tell him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie turns his head away, grin splitting his face in half, colour high on his cheeks. His fingers curl around my wrist, not moving, just holding my hand against his neck. I don’t need to worry if he’s into this, despite not knowing me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I kiss the corner of his mouth. ‘Let's go then.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, shit, okay. I did not think I was gonna pick someone up tonight.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie swings on his jacket and taps his pockets, in a routine I know intimately. I take his hand as we walk out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lives three blocks away and makes me stand in the corridor outside his apartment so he can tidy up, which I’ve only ever seen people do in films. He peeks his head out once he’s done, like he’s not sure if I’ll still be there, and drags me to the bedroom in a tangle of limbs and kissing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I end up on top of him, grinding our hips together and pressing his hands into the bed while we make out. Richie pulls back first, breath hot and heavy on my neck, his lips moving fast and silent like he’s praying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stroke his throat with my finger. ‘You doing okay?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Need to pause a second. Fuck.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pull his bottom lip into my mouth and grin when he moans. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I need- yeah-’ Richie pulls his hand free and lifts up my shirt. ‘-to see what’s under here. Wow. You are an eleven out of ten.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I take over, pulling off my shirt, nodding for him to do the same. I watch while he strips, overwhelmed with fondness for the gangly dance he does rolling around the bed. I sit in his lap once he’s naked, my legs wrapped around him, still in my jeans. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I run my finger up and down his chest. ‘This is very fucking nice.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘All of this.’ I cross my arms behind his head, grinding my ass across his cock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie swallows, gripping my hips. ‘Can I take these off?’ He asks, undoing the top button of my jeans. ‘Is your prick ripped like the rest of you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No-one has a ripped dick.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie drops his head back and moans when he realizes I’m not wearing underwear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s filthy. God, your dick is pretty, you gotta let me suck you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stick my thumb in his mouth. ‘You’re good at kissing, so makes sense you’d be good at that too,’ I tease. ‘Are you good?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m very good. Let me show you.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie pushes me onto my back and I have to shove his face away as he tries putting me straight in his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Get a rubber you idiot. Seriously. We just met each other.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He dives face first off the bed, rummaging around in a drawer. He comes back up with lube and an apologetic smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If you’re about to tell me you don’t have rubbers-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He holds up a single foil packet. ‘I have one.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I take a deep breath. We’re not wasting one on cock sucking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hold on a sec.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulls on a silk dressing gown from behind the bedroom door and jogs through the apartment, into the hall. The door swings open behind him, so I can have a clear line of sight while he talks to his neighbour, arms gesticulating at full extension.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I duck out of view when Richie’s neighbour disappears, laughing at how awkward he looks in the hallway. He comes back a few minutes later with a half opened box of condoms cradled in his hands like precious cargo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thank you,’ I say, peering inside, as he sits next to me on the edge of the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘My neighbour lent them to me.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘She gave them to you. I don’t think you can give them back.’ I kiss his cheek and roll one on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie topples me backwards, licking into my mouth. I wrap my limbs around him, panting around his tongue and stroking his shoulders. I try to be as noisy as I can, give him the feedback I know gets him hot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How do you want me?’ I ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Is this, like, my birthday or something? Like I’m the Queen of England with two birthdays. Is this my sex birthday?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes, happy birthday.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie kisses his way down my body. ‘I need to get you in my mouth, right fucking now.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stretch back, anticipation curling around me, mentally catching myself while Richie’s licking past my navel, remembering why I’m here. I can’t let myself get carried away and forget to look after him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I rock forward a little anyway, with the rush of lust that rolls through me when his mouth nudges over my cock. I moan, my legs clenching around his shoulders as he grips my hips. Turns out he’s always been spectacular at this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I thrust up, meeting him halfway. ‘You are- very- ah- good at this. Bloody good, as the Queen might say.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie gags, laughing, his eyes wide like he’s committed a sex crime by pulling off. I sit up to kiss him, letting him decide when to pull back, both of us grinning for the last few seconds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sorry. Can I keep going?’ Richie asks, cupping my face to chase my smile with his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah.’ I rub my thumbs over the blush on his cheeks. ‘You like it?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods, licking into the groove of my hips, as I lie back down. ‘Yeah, I love having something in my mouth.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hmm. Lucky me,’ I say, meaning it in so many ways.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sorry, I’m talking a lot.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You just said you liked having my cock in your mouth. That’s really fucking hot.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie flushes deeper, sucking me down. I try my luck, tugging his hair a little, making him moan in a dirty, deep rumble. I’m ready for it, clenching my core, so I don’t thrust up and fuck his mouth. I do it again, while he’s holding my dick on his tongue and watching me, as his eyes roll back in his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie pants. ‘If you do that again, I’m gonna come.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Shift back.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I climb into his lap, tipping his head back, not pulling his hair. ‘Suck here,’ I say, lining up his mouth with my nipple. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stroke his hair back while he sucks, until I tell him to stop. He finds his own way across my chest and we both laugh at how eagerly he licks the other side of me to hardness. He looks completely spaced out by the time I slip two fingers into his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You made me all wet,’ I say, looking down at my chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie grins and starts singing. ‘Yeah you might need a raincoat.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pinch his face, making his cheeks pucker. ‘Talking about raincoats, hand me the box.’ We suit up and I wrap my arms around his neck. ‘What do you want?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t care.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ll do anything.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t just mean now. I’ll do anything to have him, to fix this and keep him in my life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I really, really hope you’re a top.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I switch. Want me to fuck you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah.’ Richie smiles when I rub our noses together. ‘I’m no idiot.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tell me how you want it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie shakes his head, overwhelmed. I want to tell him I love him and it nearly spills out of me then, as I lie him down on his side and curl up next to him, so we can kiss while I finger him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not noisy like me when we do this, but I know exactly what all his facial expressions mean and how to touch him. He likes the harsh stretch more than I do, so I line up two fingers, that he rocks himself back and forth on. He’s quiet, like he doesn’t want to spook me, but I’m not going anywhere. I’m loving this, him in my arms, pliant and flushed, rubbing his hands all over my back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tell me when you’re ready.’ I suck his lip. ‘No rush. I can stay like this all night. Want to. I want to stay like this all night.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We kiss, liquid and slow, as I stoke Richie from the inside, where he’s hot and tight around me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ready,’ he whispers against my mouth, before rolling onto his stomach.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He presses his ass into the air, as I hold his hips and rub myself back and forth across his hole. I press the small of his back down, and tilt his head back, bringing him up onto his elbows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I want you like this,’ I tell him, licking down his jaw. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods, trying to grind himself into the pillow he’s lying on. I pull it out from underneath him, so he can’t bring himself off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t come until I tell you,’ I say, kissing his shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes flutter closed and he swallows, as I stroke his neck so he’ll turn his head and let me lick his mouth open as I press inside. I nudge my knees in close to his, as he pushes back to meet me. I tease him, with my mouth and my cock, taking my time and slowly stroking him into a hot, sweaty mess. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie drops his head down, away from my mouth, breathing hard but not making any noise, like he used to when we first started sleeping together. I stroke down his back, around his hip and touch his prick, stroking root to tip, making him shout, before pulling away.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I link our fingers together and put my mouth by his ear. ‘The moment I saw you, I wanted you.’ I feel the compliment ripple down his body. ‘I told you that right? You feel so- fucking- delicious-’ I punctuate with my hips ‘On- my- cock. I’d eat you up if I could.’ I bite his shoulder and quicken my hips. ‘Please tell me you feel good, I want to make you feel good.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie moans, nodding, and tries to flop down on his belly. I wrap my arm around him, holding him against me and grind into him sweetly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I wanna hear it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can’t feel my legs,’ Richie blurts, licking my nose. ‘Feel so good, I can’t feel my arms.’ We kiss and I circle my hips, holding him as he shivers in my arms. ‘Do I have to beg to come?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hmm, yeah you do. But not yet.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pull back, rocking just the tip of my cock in and out of him, while he swears and collapses onto his stomach, separating us.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How are you doing this?’ He asks, face half turned into the pillow, laughing softly. ‘You got a map of my asshole back there?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Shh, turn over.’ I tap his hip and spread his legs, pressing back between them, rubbing myself over him again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re like the dick terminator or something. Unstoppable fuck force, sent here through time to wreck my asshole.’  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He has no idea how accurate that description actually is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Come with me if you want to fuck,’ he giggles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I kiss him hard, to shut him up, and he clings to me, wrapping his legs around my back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You think this dick is funny?’ I ask, pretending to be ruffled, throwing his bad Schwarzenegger impression back at him. ‘You think this dick is a joke.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I thought I was bad at that, but you-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t finish his sentence for laughing, so I shut him up again, pressing back into him hard. I bring his mouth back to mine every time he pulls away gasping, and nail him, hammering the bed against the wall, until we’re both sweating and panting into each other's open mouths. I hope he’s getting it, what I’m trying to tell him, that I want to be close to him, always as close as I can possibly get. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Please,’ Richie asks, sliding his hand through the sweat on my back.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sit back, spreading Richie’s legs around me, stroking his thighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You want to?’ I thumb his cock and he clenches so hard around me I have to pause my hips. ‘Careful.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pull out, still stroking Richie. He watches me, waiting to see if I’ll thrust back inside. I keep him waiting, hand paused on his cock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If you don’t let me come, I’ll cry,’ Richie whines. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I bend his leg, so I can rest it on my shoulder and kiss his knee, as I push back inside, to rock against his prostate, touching his cock hard and fast, just under the head. I hold him suspended, sucking on his leg, while he pulls his hair, until he snaps and comes, body taut, flushed and lovely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I kiss up his chest and neck while he recovers, slipping out as I move up his body. His hands find their way around my neck and he smiles against my mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can I come on you?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie frowns, checking my dick for himself and groaning. ‘You’re not done yet. Jesus.’ He slings his arm over his face, nodding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I throw my condom across the room behind me, sitting on his stomach. I pout, missing the extra width on his hips and the way they usually spread my legs and make them ache. I take his hand away from his face and place it on my prick. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Make a fist, I wanna fuck you a bit more.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie does and I rock on his stomach, while he watches.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You missed out not fucking me,’ I tell him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I wouldn’t call it missing out.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lean back on his chest, dropping my head, deliberately giving him a show.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck. Please let me suck you again.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No.’ I slide three fingers into Richie’s mouth and I make a mess of his stomach while he moans. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lie on him, deliberately smearing come between us, wanting to bind us together so I never have to leave him. I’m an idiot for ever leaving him behind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The novelty quickly wears off and I get up after a couple of minutes, admiring my handy work before cleaning us up. The way Richie looks at me, like he’s trying to memorize every detail of a beautiful painting, pinches every nerve in my body into a symphony. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s curled up facing the window when I come back from the kitchen with water. It looks like he’s been crying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How far away is your place?’ He asks, not turning around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sit down on the bed, melancholy washing over me. ‘Are you kicking me out?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Good.’ I curl up around him, stroking my fingers through his chest hair, which is thicker and darker than I’m used to. ‘I want to spend the night with your fucking ridiculous arms wrapped around me.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie smiles, a small one, but the colour on his face gives away how pleased he is when he rolls onto his back. It makes me realize just how unguarded he is around me normally. He gently wraps his arm around my shoulder, but he’s not moving his hands over me like he normally would when we do this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How long have you been in New York?’ I ask, rubbing shapes into the skin of his chest, trying to break his affection seal.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Three months. I’m leaving next week.’ Richie points to a pile of packing boxes along the wall that I’ve completely missed. ‘I’m going back to LA. I dunno why I’m here, just felt like I needed to be in New York. You ever get that? Like you know you need to do something but you can’t figure out why.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Maybe you’re here to meet me.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You have terrible timing then.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It can be your leaving present.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s probably the best hour I’ve had here. You live here?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, I’m leaving tomorrow. Probably. I have a standby flight,’ I say, hoping I stick around long enough to make this story plausible. For all I know I could be here for days.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You going back to someone?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t answer, but Richie reads everything he needs to from my face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s a yes.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He knows. I’ll tell him when I get back.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He’s okay with that?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘In special circumstances.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You sound like a cryptic fortune cookie.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You will find romance in your future,’ I deadpan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you have someone?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie pulls me a tiny bit closer and I ache. ‘No.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Good call leaving New York then. They don’t fucking deserve you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No-one in LA wants me either.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’d want you.’ I rub his hip. ‘If I was in LA, I’d want you.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You don’t know me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Would still want you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thanks, I guess, you little weirdo.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Did you think I was fucking little when I was inside you just now?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie laughs and concedes the point, finally taking the hint from my upturned face to kiss me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘This is good,’ he says, when we pull apart, his hands finally rubbing up and down my back, rocking me into his hip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, it's better than sex sometimes.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I dunno, we just had some pretty good sex.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Exactly.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I swing my leg over Richie’s hip and he doesn’t miss the opportunity to stroke my backside and along my thigh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You know what you remind me of?’ He says, looking down at us wrapped together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I roll my eyes, already hating where this is going. ‘What?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘One of those cute Australian bears,’ he says, silently laughing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Koalas?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pinch his shoulder to stop him laughing and bumping my head against his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Christ alive, those things are ugly.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Noo, they're cute.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie kisses me and I hold him tighter, making good on the comparison. In fairness, it’s one of the least offensive things he’s compared me to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tells me stories about his failed stint on the New York comedy scene, until his voice slurs into one long monotone syllable as he falls asleep. I move his glasses to safety and curl back around him for the rest of the night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I think about all the things I want to say to him, but I can’t. That I love him. I love every version of him I meet. I know I can’t stay here in 2004, but I hope Richie can feel it, that right now he’s held by someone who loves him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I wake up early, before either the sun or Richie are properly awake. His face is pressed against my chest, looking soft and relaxed in a way I haven’t seen recently. The thing that’s brought me here, has slowly driven a wedge between us in ways I’m only just realizing. I haven’t stayed in bed with him like this for months. I’m so fucking lucky to have this and I’ve been wasting it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie  blinks awake when I’m moments away from crying, smiling at me and leaning up so we can kiss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We spend the day making love and walking the streets together, until Richie has to work that evening. I pretend I have to leave for the airport and tell him I’ll be back at the bar tonight if my flight gets cancelled. I want to see him again if I’m still here. He asks for my number, but I don’t give it to him. I sink to a crouch on the ground once he’s gone, feeling sick, and then I‘m gone. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Friday 18th September 2020 (Richie is 44)</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <b>Richie: </b>
  <span>I’m the last Loser to arrive at the hotel in Portland. The last excluding Eddie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I waited until the last possible moment for Eddie to come back so we could drive here, before I left for the airport and booked a last minute flight. For all I know Eddie’s back by now, but he hasn’t made contact. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m hiding in my room, dreading the intervention I know is imminent, and like a mindreader, Stan calls my name and knocks on the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone’s in the hallway and they pile inside, laying into me when they see Eddie’s not with me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He knows this is my wedding right?’ Ben asks, pointing at me accusingly, like I’m the one whose failed to tell Eddie this important detail. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He knows. If he could be here, he would fucking be here.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eddie’s addicted to prescription drugs,’ Mike interrupts. ‘That’s why he’s not here.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stan sighs. ‘Give it up Mike.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can’t believe that wasn’t your first guess,’ Bill says, starting a side argument, which I try to tune out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bev is very upset. She hasn’t said anything, which is a bad sign. I try to take her hand, thinking she might be able to see through the circumstance and understand I’m just as hurt as her, but she pushes me away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can’t believe you let him do this, Richie,’ she says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I didn’t let him do anything. He’s his own person.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re covering for him.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I have tried to tell him for years to talk to you all. But he won’t.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘But you know,’ Ben says. ‘Just tell us.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can’t. It’s his thing, I can’t- He’d never speak to me again.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If you had any balls,’ Bev replies, angry flush colouring her face. ‘You’d stand up to him and he wouldn’t be doing this.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You know what, actually, I don’t have to be here either,’ I say, stress overflowing and clouding my head. Eddie could come back and need me, and I’ve fucking left him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Great, maybe I don’t want you here,’ Bev slings back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No-one talks for a moment. I swallow and wait for someone to stick up for me, then reach for my bag.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Wait-‘ Bev takes the bag, dropping it to the floor to hug me. Her tiny, fierce arms apologizing better than any words could. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stan rubs my back, speaking to the room. ‘It doesn’t matter if Richie knows something, this is obviously difficult for him, so I think we should all lay off.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod, getting a mouthful of Bev’s hair when I sob. Five pairs of arms connect around me, and for a moment it feels like everything's going to be okay. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Saturday 19th September 2020 (Eddie is 44)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> The house is empty when I get back to the present.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s in Portland, at the wedding without me. The ceremony is happening right now, so it’s too late to do anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I eat peanut butter on toast, pacing the kitchen, building up enough nerve to check my phone. I have messages from everyone except Richie. I read one from Stan then stop, after I see he’s called me a fucking idiot. I put the phone down on the counter for a minute until my hands stop shaking.    </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I open Richie’s last message from six days ago, the afternoon of our argument, telling me he’d seen a rat with a bigger walking gait than me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I thumb over his name, thinking through what I should say. He’s at the wedding alone and I should be there, I need to be there, but I’m gone again before my fingers hit the keypad. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Monday 21st September 2020 (Richie is 44)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> I make the taxi drop me off last, after Bill and Mike, so I don’t have to talk them out of coming in the house with me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes every inch of stamina not to drop my bags at the door and check the house for Eddie. I unpack before I look around, knowing from the silence that he’s not here. There’s a pile of clothes in the kitchen with his phone nestled on top. He must have come back and gone again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or maybe this is part of a set up, a sick joke he’s playing to make me think that’s what’s happened. He’s giving himself time to get away before he tells me he’s leaving for good, just like he did with Myra. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m so angry at him for this whole situation, but thinking he might actually be gone crumples me. I just need to know he’s safe.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Tuesday 22nd September 2020 (Richie is 44, Eddie is 44)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> I brought water and a banana to bed with me last night, so I wouldn’t need to get up this morning. I’m planning on lying here, feeling sorry for myself, for as long as possible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I haven’t told anyone that Eddie’s not back yet and no-one has asked. I think about texting Stan, and telling him how worried I am that Eddie’s might be gone for real. I sit with the thought for a minute, a crash in the kitchen interrupting me before I can pick up my phone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie swears as he walks around the house, getting louder and louder as he approaches the bedroom. He walks over, standing at the edge of the bed in front of me, still shaking the foot he must have bashed when he materialised. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey.’ He pushes the hair back from my forehead softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I smile despite myself, so fucking relieved he’s okay. I sit up, pulling him towards me, pressing my face into his stomach. I hold him there, my arms overlapping across his back, the only place in the universe he ever needs to be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m so angry with you,’ I say, against his skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie strokes his hands through my hair. ‘I know.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘But I’m so relieved you’re okay.’ His stomach jumps against my cheek as he exhales. ‘I thought you’d gone for real. You’d left me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Richie, I won’t do that. I don’t ever want to do that. I won’t leave.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You don’t know that. You might not love me anymore.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I won’t just leave.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You did with Myra.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t think I’d have the guts to say any of this if I could see his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That was different.’ Eddie’s hands shake against my shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s alway different with you, that’s the problem. I have no way to tell the difference.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If I don’t love you and I want to leave, I’ll tell you straight. If I’m leaving because it’s my decision, you’ll know. I get what you’re saying and I won’t do that to you. If I’m not here it’s because I can’t help it. I want to be here. You have no idea how much I only want to be here.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod, rubbing a wet spot into Eddie’s skin, letting my pain soak into him. ‘It still hurts.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can I get into bed with you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I want to look at you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We re-arrange ourselves. We’d usually tangle our legs and arms together, but there’s space between us. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What can I do to help with it hurting?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I turn away, not wanting to have the same one way conversation again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Rich.’ Eddie runs his hand down my spine. ‘I’m ready to do something. I don’t want to leave you like this, it should have been my priority this whole time.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leans over, rubbing the tears off my cheeks, catching the next one before it can roll down my nose. I roll back to face him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m going to tell everyone,’ he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Please don’t say that to me if you’re not completely sure.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m sure. I’ll tell them today.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I breath out, all shaky, and rest my forehead against Eddie’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thank you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Please don’t thank me. I’m so sorry Richie.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I kiss down his cheek, resting my face in his neck. He takes the hint, wrapping an arm around my back, sliding our legs together, so we’re hugging. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I had a lot of time to think. I’m going to fix this.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you actually okay telling people? You’ve been against it for so long.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m making this worse for both of us. You’re right, you’ve been right this whole time.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You went to the future and saw something.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes. I’ve been away twice, to the past and the future. Can I tell you about it later?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod, for once genuinely not caring about the specifics. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I had a visit from myself too,’ Eddie continues. ‘Got a pretty brutal pep talk.’ Eddie finds my hand and threads our fingers together. ‘He said we’re doing okay in the future.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I smile, wanting to believe him, but we’ve had so many false starts, I won’t trust this until Eddie follows through. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My phone rings. Eddie reaches over me and answers, putting Bill on speaker phone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey Rich, you okay?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah. I’m good.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Have you heard from Eddie?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He’s here.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Like right there with you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey Bill,’ Eddie says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey,’ Bill replies, clipped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wait to see how Eddie will handle this. If all his talk will crumble at the first hurdle, or if he actually means it this time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can I come over this afternoon? To talk to you and Mike, if he’s around.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you going to be honest with us?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes. I’m sorry.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You should be apologizing to Richie.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know. I am. Please don’t be mad Bill.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘3pm. Call me if you need anything Richie.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill hangs up and the afternoon hangs between us.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ll come with you?’ I ask. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah. This is your thing too.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ve been asking for this for so long, and now it’s happening it’s daunting. Like we’re coming up to the mountain peak, the hardest part when the oxygen is non-existent and we don’t know what's up ahead yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Will you be mad if I go for a run?’ Eddie asks, nervous energy about what he’s committed to kicking in.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No. I need to shower, desperately. You’ve been laying in the middle of my wafting fit.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I missed it actually, when I was sleeping in the spare room. I’ve missed you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie hesitates, then kisses the back of my hand before climbing out of bed. The loss of contact stings like the snap of a rubber band. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ll text the others before I go. Try and set up times to talk to them.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay. Bev is fuming with you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie scowls. ‘Good to know.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I watch him change and leave from my safe spot in bed, hoping that this time it’ll be different.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Warnings: panic attacks, arguments, minor injury (cuts)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>I’m in the car, parked outside of Bill’s house with Eddie. Neither of us has moved since we arrived ten minutes ago.</p><p>‘What if I disappear while we’re in there,’ Eddie says, his legs bouncing with nerves. ‘I’m stressed Rich, I’m fucking stressed.’</p><p>‘It might be the easiest way to explain it. Wait until you get inside though, don’t leave me hanging out here to go in alone.’</p><p>Eddie looks thunderous and I can’t help but laugh. </p><p>‘Eds, I’m joking.’</p><p>‘Well, fucking don’t.’</p><p>‘I’m trying to loosen you up.’ I lean over to rub his shoulder. ‘It’s gonna be okay.’</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>'E' rating is for Chapter 4 onwards, so this chapter is rated 'E'</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Tuesday 22nd September 2020 (Richie is 44, Eddie is 44)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> I’m in the car, parked outside of Bill’s house with Eddie. Neither of us has moved since we arrived ten minutes ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What if I disappear while we’re in there,’ Eddie says, his legs bouncing with nerves. ‘I’m stressed Rich, I’m fucking stressed.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It might be the easiest way to explain it. Wait until you get inside though, don’t leave me hanging out here to go in alone.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie looks thunderous and I can’t help but laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eds, I’m joking.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Well, fucking don’t.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m trying to loosen you up.’ I lean over to rub his shoulder. ‘It’s gonna be okay.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie nods, sliding out of the car and up the steps to the house in one fluid flash of limbs. Mike’s at the door by the time I catch up to Eddie and I get enveloped into his spare arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know you’ve got a good reason for all of this Eddie,’ he says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In that moment, I could not love Mike more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie smiles, the sad one where his mouth actually turns upside down, as we follow Mike to the living room where Bill’s waiting. He doesn’t look at either of us. I sit next to Eddie, close enough that he can take my hand if he wants to. I’ve left it on the couch between us, palm up, just in case. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s very nervous. His hands are trembling against his leg and there’s a little bit of sweat forming at the back of his neck. Bill and Mike are stoically waiting for him to speak and this feels unbearably formal. Eddie looks down, spotting my hand in the corner of his eye and taking it. He’s no longer scared of what it means to touch me, neither of us are, and if he can overcome that, he can do anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once he starts the words snowball out of his mouth in an unstoppable tumble. Eddie just blurts it out. What Chrono-Impairment is, how long he’s been doing it, where he goes and how he can’t consciously control anything about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike tries to interrupt multiple times, but Eddie steam rolls him and it’s beautiful to watch. Bill listens, hands in prayer, like he’s trying to think himself into an Agatha Christie novel, his eyes getting wider over every passing minute.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie continues as if he’s oblivious, talking about where he frequently visits. Teenage me gets some eyebrow action from Miami Vice, but the mood crashes to shit when Eddie tells them he’s seen Pennywise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Any pretense of this being exciting evaporates. Bill is on his feet immediately, pulling Eddie into a hug. Mike intercepts me, and I don’t realize until I tuck my face into Mike’s shoulder that I’m crying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck man, I always forget you’re ripped,’ I say, trying to break the tension. ‘What the hell?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie glares at me over Bill’s shoulder, making me laugh. ‘You should be worried Eds. Wait until you get a Mikey hug. You can find out what he’s packing.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike slaps me across the chest and I regret teasing him, he’s strong and the pressure makes me cough. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I hug Mike all the time ya dipshit,’ Eddie sighs. ‘I know he’s jacked.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eddie, this sounds serious,’ Mike says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie rubs his hand over his mouth, nervous energy back. ‘Can I call Stan? He’s been texting me. I need to-’ He waves his phone so violently in Bill’s face it turns him cross eyed. ‘I need to keep going, now I have, what’s that word-’ Eddie flaps his hands around, strolling out of the room and yelling back at us. ‘Momentum.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Rich, why the hell didn’t Eddie tell us,’ Bill asks, eyes glossy, staring at something in the mid-distance. ‘Why didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> tell us?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you fucking serious?’ I hiss. ‘That’s what you’re taking away from what Eddie just said?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, no no. This is a lot to handle, but we got it, right Mike?’ Bill’s voice betrays him, going high pitched at the end of the sentence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eddie didn’t want me to tell you guys because he thought you’d freak out, and to be honest you don’t look like you’re coping very well. It’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> weird.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s weird Richie,’ Mike says, smile unhinged, not meeting his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lean forward into their shared space. ‘Do not fucking say that in front of Eddie. He doesn’t wanna be the sick friend again. His whole fucking life people have told him he’s sick for bullshit reasons, and he actually has a rare genetic disorder, which is a billion times worse than anything his wife or Mom cooked up. He just spilled his guts to you, to stop you all gossiping about him, so do him a solid and be cool. Please be cool. I begged him to do this. I can’t-’ I wipe the tears off my face. ‘I won’t ever forgive myself if this ruins things for him.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We all take a moment. I can hear Eddie talking in one of the rooms down the hall. He laughs, and a burst of relief floods through me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I asked Eddie to tell you because I’m finding it really hard when he leaves,’ I say around a shaky breath. ‘I have no idea how long he’ll be gone, and if he’ll be okay when he comes back. If he comes back.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill snaps up his head. ‘Can that happen?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t know.’ The whip snap of emotions makes me feel numb. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie comes back, face wet, phone clutched in his hand. He rocks on the balls of his feet, back and forth at my side, until I pull him under my arm. We all look at him, waiting for the result. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Stan’s good. He’s er- good with everything.’ Eddie laughs nervously. ‘He’ll do whatever we need. He’s gonna call you.’ He looks up at me, shaken and relieved, and I squeeze him closer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Bev and Ben won’t answer. Are they that mad at me?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m dialing Bev before Eddie’s finished speaking. ‘She’s not answering me either.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie sits down, steeping his hands over the crease in his forehead, while Bill tries his luck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey Bev. Yeah I know,’ Bill starts, holding up his hand when Eddie reaches for the phone. ‘They’re here. It’s not- no, I know. You gotta listen to Eddie. It’s not that. Can I put him on?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie crowds Bill against the wall, waiting for the phone. Now that he’s started talking about this, he can’t stop himself. His mania wants to wipe the slate clean and burst through all the seams of this brave new world, desperate to pull the band aid off in one clean sweep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie stays in the room with us while he talks to Bev and Ben. He apologizes for missing the wedding, for leaving me to go on my own, for asking me not to say anything. He catches my eye from across the room, his back pressed against one of Bill’s enormous bookcases, and I know he’s talking as much to me as to Bev and Ben. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stan calls me, so I miss the second half of Eddie’s conversation. Bill’s house has turned into a water works convention by the time I’m done. Stan tells me how brave I’ve been dealing with everything on my own. I don’t talk, for once in my life, I just listen. I don’t feel brave, not like Eddie’s been all afternoon, putting the world to rights in fifteen minute bursts of gallantry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We leave once Eddie’s decided he’s done talking, while he’s still keyed up and un-ashamedly proud of himself. He’s oblivious to any of the frayed edges he’s left Bill and Mike with, as they do their best to act normal even if they don’t feel it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie leaves to run as soon as we get home. I let him go, not fighting it, even though it leaves me feeling like a loose end. I have five people in my life who know and it’s no longer a secret, but it doesn’t feel as monumental as I thought it would. I feel exactly the same as I did this morning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They probably feel how I did, the first time I saw Eddie time travel and I couldn’t realign the world on its axis properly anymore. I wonder if it’s easier to digest if you’ve seen Eddie disappear right in front of you or not. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He comes back after two hours with wobbly legs, drenched in sweat. We eat grilled cheese in silence after he’s showered and we’ve both mellowed out to meet in the middle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I feel like we’re starting again,’ Eddie says, stacking the dishwasher. ‘Changing everything.’ He walks into my arms, leaning sideways against me at the kitchen counter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s not everything.’ I push his hair back, where it’s drying floppy over his forehead. ‘I don’t want to downplay what you did today, but it’s not everything.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie nudges our noses together and my stomach swoops. I let it settle before I take up his offer and kiss him. My hands curl gently around his jaw, like he’ll flutter away from me into the ether if I try to hold him too tight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie pulls back, his eyelids heavy and gives himself a moment before he opens them. ‘It’s not just telling the others,’ he says. ‘There’s a support group for Chrono-Impairment. I told myself to join it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘The one in Burbank?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes.’ Eddie frowns, studying my face. ‘You know?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I found it when I was doing research, when you first moved in.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie nods, lost in his head for a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You don’t have to do everything all at once,’ I tell him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’ve got a head start though. If you told yourself to do it, it must work out okay.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I guess.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I kiss him again, trying to reignite the surety he had moments ago, that’s drifted away from him like the wind picking up autumn leaves. It’s late, and I really want to take him to bed, curl up around him and trace shapes into his skin until he falls asleep in my arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I need to think,’ he says, rocking backwards on his feet away from me. ‘I’ll sleep in the spare room.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay.’ I rub his arms, in a poor substitute for my plan. ‘Whatever you want.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie hums, pulling away to put the house to sleep. He joins me in the en suite and we brush our teeth side by side for the first time in over a week, before he leaves me for the spare room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wake up in the middle of the night, when it’s still dark and silent, to Eddie sliding into bed behind me, tucking himself into the shape of my body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t wake up,’ he whispers, as I smile into the darkness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He strokes his hand up and down my forearm, bristling the hair there like a breeze. I fall back asleep, hoping that it always feels this good when he comes back to me.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Wednesday 23rd September 2020 (Richie is 44, Eddie is 44)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> I wake up after the sun has risen, a plan for today formed during my sleep. I rolled onto my back after Eddie joined me in bed and he’s tucked into my side, making a wet patch with his mouth under my armpit. It feels like a blessing to have his skin under my fingertips this close to waking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As far as I know Eddie hasn’t visited any of the other Losers yet, but that doesn’t mean he won’t. I reach for my phone and start a new group chat, adding everyone except Eddie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I fill them in on the Eddie emergency kit essentials; weather appropriate clothes, food, water, something for boredom. I don’t think it's practical they leave him the date, but something with the current year on it, so he can orient himself. I type one handed, so I’m slow to respond to the endless stream of questions, as I use my other hand to make a soft, slow mess of the hair on Eddie's arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He presses his hip against me possessively when he wakes, licking up my neck. I tap his nose with the phone, stopping him in his tracks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Been talking to the others, you got anything to add?’ I ask, showing him the first couple of messages.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie scrolls through the chat, his expression softening when he sees how supportive everyone has been. He tucks his face into my chest, wrapping himself around me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ask them what their alarm passwords are, in case I need to break in.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Want me to add you to the chat?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie thinks about it, eyebrows creasing together. ‘No. You should keep it to the support team. Why don’t we do this more?’ He rubs his thumb against my hip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What? Cuddling? We do this all the time.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Not in the morning.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Come back to bed after your run then.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re usually up. I could run later.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I abandon the phone to run a hand up and down Eddie’s back, closing my eyes to enjoy the feeling properly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Rich?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hmm.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you still angry?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t want to say yes, but I also don’t want to lie. We’ve spent most of this year stalled, neither of us on the same page. I don’t want to go back to that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I am.’ We look at each other, as I hold in the contradiction that wants to burst out to me to wipe the disappointment off Eddie’s face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We stay silent for a while, holding each other. Eighteen year old me would have scolded myself so badly for wasting time being morose, when Eddie’s right here, in our bed by choice. But I can’t help how I feel. I don’t feel any different to yesterday. Only time will tell what difference telling the others will really make. Eddie’s still going to be leaving me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a rumble and it’s hard to tell whose stomach it is from the way we’re pressed together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie fidgets and I think he’s going to leave the bed to search for food, but he cuddles closer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can I tell you where I went during the wedding?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’d completely forgotten, with the whirlwind of emotions of the past twenty four hours that we haven’t talked about where Eddie’s been. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He kneels, pressing them against me, so I rest my hand on his leg. Horny bastard is naked and standing half to attention. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I was in New York, August 2004. I went to a gay bar near Eighth avenue.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh.’ I swallow. ‘I know that area actually-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Right, so I went there, and-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eddie.’ He sighs at being interrupted. ‘I was having a shit time of it when you left, I don’t know if I wanna hear about you going to a gay bar.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I haven’t finished.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you do that a lot? Disappear and go chat to guys?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No.’ Eddie stares at me, not blinking. ‘That’s the only time I’ve ever been to a gay bar.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod, looking away, not knowing if I want to hear the end of this story. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t ever go chatting to guys, Richie.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, I know.’ I want to rewind the last five minutes and delete this piece of information before it lodges itself inside me like a parasite. ‘I’m sorry.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Maybe we shouldn’t talk about it?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re the one with all the details, I have no idea where this is going.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘So I go into this gay bar-’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie stops talking when I laugh, amazed at how completely he’s just ignored his own advice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I used to walk past it after work if I had dinner in the city,’ he continues, ignoring me. ‘It always caught my eye and I never knew why. I do now though. It’s because I’m gay.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I gesture to him with an exasperated look, naked and almost straddling me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I went in there to see what it was like. I was just gonna look around, have a drink. I was a mess because I’d left you when we should have been packing for Portland, and I missed you, and I thought what harm could it do, I already felt shitty but at least I’d know what a gay bar was like. But I knew, as soon as I got through the door it was a mistake.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘So you left?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, well I left, but I went back.’ Eddie rubs my eyebrows with his thumb, where they’ve knit together in confusion. ‘I saw you.’</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>‘Huh. I don’t remember seeing you in that bar.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You don’t remember flirting with me? Or kissing me?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I watch Eddie’s lips move in slow motion. My eyelids are the only part of my body still working, blinking out a loop of ‘what the fuck’ in morse, as the memory slides back to me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>way</span>
  </em>
  <span>.’ I feel the last word break in my throat before I hear it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I replay that night in my head while Eddie grips my arm. How out of my mind into this guy I was. How he walked into the bar like he was on an insane mission to kiss me stupid and take me apart. Of course that had been Eddie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s watching me manically, like he’s trying to figure out a way to reach into my head and take back his confession. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I take his hand in mine. ‘I’m so glad that was you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Really?’ he asks, voice high pitched around a hiccup.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah. Are you kidding? It’s so fucking romantic.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Is it?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Dashing through time to stick it on me?’ I laugh. ‘Fuck yes.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie echoes my laugh, cut short by another hiccup. ‘I wasn’t sticking it on you, I was- fuck. I gotta sort this fucking thing.’ He gestures to his throat as he hiccups again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I curl away from the door when he leaves, pulling his pillow with me, to leave a wet impression of my face in it. Richie Tozier was here and he had a lot of feelings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was so depressed that night, that whole year really. It felt shallow at the time, but that one night stand and the following day, where Eddie had stayed and hung out with me, made all the shitty things a little bit more palatable. It felt like a connection laced with affection was an attainable thing, something I knew I wanted after that point, even if I never got it until I found Eddie again. We made a promise to each other that night, without me even knowing it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I always look for you,’ Eddie says, holding out a notebook when he comes back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s the same notebook of dates I gave to him, now updated with pages and pages of cities and dates spanning from 1996 until 2016. I flick through the book, trying to piece together what the fuck Eddie’s trying to tell me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I didn’t know you were in New York in 2004,’ he says, kneeling beside me again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s all dates and places I’ve been on tour. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Where the hell did you get all these from?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie flushes. ‘Steve. And I searched through your fansites.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh my god.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You only have two. I’m- it’s not weird, is it?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I dunno. What are you doing with it?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Looking for you. I have them memorized.’ Eddie points to the earliest date, February 1996, that he’s marked with a star. ‘The asterisks are dates I’ve travelled to.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That was my first gig at College. You were there?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s- oh man, that’s embarrassing.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eds, I tanked. I got heckled so bad and all my college friends joined in, and then this crazy drunk guy started yelling at everyone to let me finish-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I wasn’t drunk.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We stare at each other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck. Off. That was you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Of course it was me.’ Eddie snatches the book out of my hand. ‘I wasn’t gonna sit there while all those fuckheads talked shit to you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I take the book back and count the asterisks. There’s six of them. I already know about a couple, the tour visit last year and the show in 2007, but Eddie’s kept the other ones quiet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You went to this show too?’ I ask, pointing to a date from 2011.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I showed up on the fucking balcony midway through your set.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I gasp. ‘You’re the streaker! Eddie, that happened loads during that tour. It was in the press!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh fuck.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My stomach clenches from the laugh that bursts out of me and won’t stop coming. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t fucking laugh!’ Eddie slaps me on the chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You heckled me in Pittsburgh. Eddie-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Stop-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We had a shouting match in the middle of the show. You got carted off by security in your birthday suit.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can you shut up.’ Eddie grits his teeth. ‘I was trying to show you that I fucking love you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sober as he throws the book over his shoulder onto the floor. I poke his knee and he turns back towards me, not annoyed that I’m laughing, but nervous. I catch the apology in my throat and hold it, waiting for him to speak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I have the book memorized-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘The whole book?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie flicks me for interrupting and keeps his hand on my shoulder. ‘It’s the first thing I do once I know I’m safe, I see if I’m in the same place as you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t you see enough of me at home?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I- no. I want to be with you, it’s boring otherwise.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can’t believe you just said time travel is boring. You could do anything! You’re going backwards and forwards in </span>
  <em>
    <span>time</span>
  </em>
  <span>.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I realize from the droop in Eddie’s body that this conversation isn’t going the way he thought it would. This is a big gesture that I’ve trivialized and thrown back at him in pieces. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I want to be here with you,’ he says, sighing impossibly slowly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I want that too.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re a stranger half the time or a teenager, but it’s still better if I’m with you. What am I supposed to do if you’re there? Just walk away and go be on my own?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tears splash down Eddie’s face and he gets to them quicker than me. ‘I just want to look after you. I should be fucking allowed. You’re always doing it for me.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Holy shit. You are allowed, Eds. You think I don’t know what that was in New York, now I know it was you? You made love to me. I never had that before. And what you did for me as a teenager, you made me feel good about being gay in 1980’s Maine for fucks sake.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie laughs wetly, scooting forward to wipe my face. ‘Stop crying.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You first.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m not.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can’t believe you memorized my tour dates.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m in love with you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My stomach flips, even though it’s not new information. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie shrugs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Want me to double check the book? I went on some holidays Steve won’t know about.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes please.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We dip forwards to meet in the middle. Eddie climbs into my lap as soon as my hands touch his back, and he stays there until the lure of coffee overpowers the soft slide of our mouths together. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Wednesday 18th November 2020 (Richie is 44, Eddie is 44)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> It’s been a difficult few weeks. I’d hoped things would be back to normal by now, but I’m realizing there’s no going back to what we had. This is something new intiarly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ironically, like the boy who cried wolf on my own monstrous tenancies, I haven’t disappeared since September. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every time I see Bill, I feel his gaze linger, waiting for me to vanish in front of him in a puff of smoke. That’s not how it works, but for once I wish it would, so the edge of doubt I know is sitting at the back of his mind would evaporate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie is both close and distant with me, like he’s waiting for a round of test results to come back. We need to properly pull and twist this new way of living to check it won’t snap, before he’ll trust me again. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Tuesday 1st December 2020 (Richie is 44)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> I text the others when I wake up and Eddie’s still gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Recently he’s been running after breakfast, so he can stay in bed with me when we wake up. My libido has pretty much disappeared, so we mostly cuddle and kiss around the morning crossword that Eddie likes to chip away at while lying on my chest. I try to make him laugh as close to waking as possible, because I like the soft throaty little chuckle he makes when he’s still sleep groggy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’d walked one of Eddie’s running routes after lunch yesterday, when it became clear he wasn’t coming home. I’d found a pile of his clothes, half tucked under a bush after twenty minutes. His running shoes were gone, but I’d brought everything else home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I get texts from the Losers throughout the morning, telling me to call if I need anything. I edit the script I’m still working on in my boxers until I feel guilty enough to get dressed and eat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes I’m still angry at Eddie. I find it hard to deal with the flippant comments he sometimes makes, or his tendency to brush off the things I’m worried about, but it’s getting better. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stan calls me after dinner, while I’m laying on the couch watching reruns and feeling sorry for myself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I get that you’re worried, Rich,’ he sighs, tinny through the speaker. ‘But about what specifically? If you had magic shoes like Dorothy, to click and make something go away-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If I had her shoes I’d be on fucking Broadway right now.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘-what would it be?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s not something anyone can change.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘But what is it?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I- Stan, I just want to know he’s okay. I don’t need shoes, I need that fucking clock from Harry Potter. He could be injured, or stuck somewhere and I wouldn’t know.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Everyone worries about that stuff. I worry about that, how Patty could be in an accident or I might be, and I might never see her again when she goes to work. Not to sound horrendously morbid, but it happens. It happens all the time, to people way more ordinary than Eddie.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Did he tell you he sees Pennywise?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stan goes silent for a long moment. ‘No. I didn’t think of that. In ‘89?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah. He watched himself as a kid almost become clown bait, then Pennyfuck chased him through the field behind Neibolt and grabbed him. He came back to me screaming and bleeding.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay, I get why you’re worried.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If I knew when he was coming back or where he was going, it would help. I keep- fuck, I keep thinking, what if he comes back while I’m out, and he’s injured, and I’m too late to help him. What if I could have done something to stop it, if I’d have known.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m sure that won’t happen.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It might.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘But you can’t live thinking like that, Rich. Not long term. This is a long term thing right? You and Eddie?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I fucking hope so. This is it for me, man. I’ve been in love with him my whole life.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Then you need a long term solution to deal with this.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I guess.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No you do, because if what you’re scared of happens, then you have to be in a good place, because Eddie’s really gonna need you. All of us can be there for you when he’s away, but you’re the one he comes back to. You gotta find a way to own the time you have away from him and not just fall into a routine of moping.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can hear you watching Dawson’s Creek.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck you. How am I supposed to own my life or whatever without him? My whole routine is with him.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Make a new routine, for when he’s not there. Surely there are things you like doing that he hates.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ha, yeah.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Go annoy Bill and Mike, or come annoy me. Atlanta’s only a four hour flight and I know you’ve got money to burn. Come anytime Rich.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can’t just go to Atlanta. I don’t know when Eddie will come back.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘But it’s sometimes weeks he’s away, right?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s also hours or minutes sometimes.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Well, I’ll come to you sometime if I can. Richie, please don’t pause your life because you’re worried about missing something, it’ll drive you crazy. Do whatever you think is best for you and Eddie, but don’t stop your life for it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s easy to say that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sure is. I just don’t want you to be in the same place you were at the wedding every time this happens.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know. Fuck, I don’t want to be like that either.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We let the teenage melodrama fill the silence for a few moments of reflection. This is the first time I’ve talked this situation through with anyone and I’m not sure how I feel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m gonna go, it’s late here. I love you Rich. Call me in the morning if you want.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thanks. I love you back.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lay on the couch for a while longer, knowing that Stan’s probably right. I don’t want a life without Eddie, but I can’t pause things every time he disappears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I text Bill and Mike before going to bed to make lunch plans for tomorrow. Baby steps. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Wednesday 2nd December 2020 (Richie is 44, Eddie is 44)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> Richie’s not home when I appear back at the house. It’s disappointing, as I’m desperate to tell him where I’ve been. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I text him, chugging lemonade and eating a half full container of guacamole with a spoon. He texts back straight away, telling me to meet him for lunch with Bill and Mike, which is weird. He normally comes straight home when I’ve been away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We argue over text for a few minutes, until Richie stalemates, sending me a photo of the menu and a list of what he’s ordered me. I dress and jump in a taxi, surprised at how put out I feel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s facing away from the door, but sticks his toothy grin out of the side of the booth to greet me, all grabby hands, slinging his arm around me like I’m his date in a mediocre 50’s romance movie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Missed you,’ he says, smacking a big one on my cheek, that I make a show of rubbing off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill leans across the table towards me, like we’re about to trade secrets. ‘Where did you go?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Derry-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Derry what, Derry when?’ Bill interrupts, before I can elaborate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Chill out bozo,’ Richie lobbies back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t know if I should say-‘ I whisper into Richie’s ear, while tracing ‘R+E’ onto the back of his hand, where it’s resting on my thigh. ‘Summer ‘89, at the kissing bridge.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie curls his head into my neck, as I watch Mike and Bill from the corner of my eye, expressions turning to exasperation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m so embarrassed,’ Richie whispers back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, fuck no. I love it, love </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What’s going on?’ Mike asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can I tell them?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie nods and I flick my thumb towards him. ‘I saw this one at the kissing bridge in ‘89, declaring his undying love to me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No way!’ Bill laughs and both Richie and I kick him under the table. ‘Sorry, that’s cute?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re right Bill, it is fucking cute. It’s brave and moronic all at once, carving that beautiful shit into homophobic piece of rotting trash Derry. Proud of you Rich.’ We high five. ‘I did one too.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie looks at me, his eyes soft. ‘What did you write?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fifty bucks says, Eddie drew a dick,’ Mike answers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Dick in a heart,’ follows Bill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck you both. Do not fucking laugh.’ I point them into silence. ‘It was an R in a heart.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I was right!’ Bill shouts. ‘Dick is short for Richard. It was R for Richie, right?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I whip Bill across the nose with my serviette. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Man you guys are kinda disgusting,’ Mike sighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie looks out of his mind with glee. ‘I can’t believe you did that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hold up my hand where it’s still red from the indent of the rock I used and Richie smooths over the line with his fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I couldn’t leave yours there on it’s own.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
  <span></span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> Richie’s on top of me as soon as we get home, pushing me through the house towards the bedroom, hands possessive on my hips. We’ve detoured in the hallway to grind against each other while we kiss, when Richie pulls my shorts down to my knees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We’re doing this here?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie doesn’t answer, lifting my shirt and biting down my stomach, as he sinks to his knees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, you were meant to say no, bedroom.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie growls, lifting me over his shoulder to walk us down the hall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck.’ I’m embarrassed by how high my voice sounds. It makes me very hot whenever he manhandles me like this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie muscles between my legs as soon as I’m on the bed, pulling my prick into his mouth. It’s all wet, hot suction as he noses down towards my pelvis. He moans around me, like there’s nowhere else he’d want to be. It’s the first time he’s touched me like this in months and I feel crazy with it, but I lie there and let him touch me however he wants.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stays there, nose pressed against my belly, deep throating me and sucking in a hard, quick rhythm as I unravel. I take his glasses off, to stop them digging into his forehead, messing up his hair in the process. It’s falling all over his face and into the saliva pooling at the base of me, so I scoop it back to the base of his head, realizing it’s probably long enough to tie up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s watching me, eyes hooded, as I tug his hair. He moans again, eyes rolling back, his hands digging into the flesh at the top of my ass as I come. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sags forward, face in my thigh once he stops swallowing. I can tell he’s touching himself from the flex of his arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Up, stand up,’ I say, prodding him with my foot. ‘I don’t wanna get on the floor with you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He strokes himself slowly, in the perfect position for me to pull him into my mouth, but I’m thinking of something else, something he’s alluded to before but I’ve never given him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Missed you. Missed you so much, Rich.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He catches on, hand flying faster over himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Wanna come on my face?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie whines, looking towards the ceiling. ‘Yeah,’ he says, voice subsonic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Wanna taste you. Can’t believe I don’t know what you taste like.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh. Fuck. Keep talking.’ Richie rests his free hand on my shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Bet it’s good. Get some on my mouth and I’ll lick it off.’ I stick out my tongue, as Richie starts making a huff noise on every stroke, rocking back and forth into his fist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eds, close your eyes.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I do, changing my mind at the last minute and closing my mouth too. Richie hits my face and neck in four wet stripes, that feel disgusting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lay back as Richie collapsed on top of me, limbs splayed out. He laughs softly, his breath hot against my neck, then hums, wriggling against me. He smears two fingers through his come on my cheek, pushing them into my mouth, licking up my neck in the same tempo as my tongue around his fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The taste isn’t unpleasant, definitely better than the latex aftertaste from a rubber, which I won’t bother with next time I suck him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Does precome taste the same?’ I ask, pulling his fingers out of my mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He groans. ‘You wanna put my dick in your mouth and find out?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, actually.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hmm, you’ve got a taste for natures protein.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘All protein is natures protein. I only like it because it’s you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I try to roll out to clean my face, but he clings to me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He’s got a taste,’ Richie sings, in his jingle voice. ‘For Tozier.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Shut the fuck up. I’ll suck you later if you let me up.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘There’s no way I’m getting a boner again in this diurnal cycle. You didn’t even touch me and I blew my brains out.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Up. Richie, my face. It feels gross.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘But it looks gorgeous.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie catches my hand after I elbow him into letting go and I pull him into the bathroom. I wash my face and try tying up his hair with a rubber band I find at the bottom of the first aid kit. The front bits fall out but it mostly stays in place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie wiggles his eyebrows. ‘This doing something for ya?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Maybe. Don’t want you to get spunk in your hair.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Spunk!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck off.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey, I’m gonna kiss you now.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I haven’t brushed.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Exactly.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie tastes himself in my mouth and I feel the subsequent rumble he makes all the way down to my toes. He wraps both arms around me, gently dipping me backwards, his tongue doing something very fucking sexy in my mouth, as he picks me up again, his arm under my knees, to carry me back to bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What is it with you picking me up?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Really fucking in love with you or something. Want me to stop?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No,’ I say quietly, while we strip and climb under the covers, nose to nose, all tangled together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can’t believe you did that,’ Richie says, between kisses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Been thinking about it for a while. Thought you might like it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh, the come thing. I did. I was talking about what you did in Derry.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, of course I wanted to.’ I trace the line of his jaw with my finger. ‘I’m sorry it fucks things up for you when I leave, but sometimes I get to put things right somewhere else. It’s not always bad stuff. And your love never existed on it’s own. Even though I wasn’t thirteen when I did it, it’s still there.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie rolls away from me before I finish. I press up against his back, kissing his neck, while his shoulders shake from crying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Rich?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Stan said I need a better way to cope when you’re not here. That I shouldn’t just drop everything and wait for you to come back. That’s why I didn’t come home when you text me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay, that sounds-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He said I need a long term way to deal with this, because you’re a long term deal. For me. You’re the deal. This is the only deal that I want.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stare at the back of Richie’s neck, touching my fingertip to a mole I never realized was there, usually covered by his hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re the deal for me too. However you need this to work is okay. I’ll keep telling you when I come back and you just come meet me, whenever you can.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We’ll meet in the middle.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Exactly.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We lay like that for a long time, my hand stroking against Richie’s neck, while I think about my reaction, and how unfair it was of me to be annoyed. I roll something over my mind while I count his breaths. Something I’ve been holding onto since September, waiting for the right moment to ask him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Richie?‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you still want to adopt a dog?’</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Monday 8th February 2021 (Richie is 44, Eddie is 44)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> Richie said no to adopting a dog the first time I asked. I’d cried in the shower afterwards, thinking I’d broken something irreparably, but he’d told me that evening it was a no for now, not a no forever, and we spoke about it again after Christmas. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We’ve researched what type of dog we want, naturally finding ourselves on the same page without any arguing or meddling from me. I pick the adoption shelter, spotting our dog on their website, a two year old Australian Shepherd, dark brown and white across her face and back, with white feet and bright blue eyes. I’ve met her in the future, but I haven’t told Richie this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m standing against the wall between two cages at the shelter, slowly dissolving into panic because I can’t find her. I think through my library of excuses that will get us out of here with an excuse to try somewhere else, while Richie sprints around, doing a methodical sweep of the cages, oblivious to my pending meltdown.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But our dog ends up finding us. She’s inside the cage behind me that I thought was empty, until I feel her licking my hand. I crouch down and she whines, treading on the spot, trying to get to me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey,’ I say, holding out my palm for her paw, which she slots through a gap, as I melt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie crouches next to me and the dog twists back and forth between us, tail wagging.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You found our dog?’ Richie smiles, completely smitten, jamming his hand through the cage to scratch her neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Maybe.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘She’s got great taste.’ He nods to my hand, which she’s licking again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What do you think?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie glances at the information sheet pinned to the cage. ‘She’s an Aussie, that’s on our shortlist.’ He rests his arm on my shoulder, sighing. ‘She’s gorgeous.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We head outside with a volunteer to a fenced off piece of grass, the dog running in a lean line between us, bumping our knees with her tail. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We learn that she was rescued from a neglected home, where she was left outside on her own most of the time. The shelter have been doing a lot of work with her to build up her trust levels, but they haven’t given her a name, but she’ll answer to the word ‘no’. Richie visibly tenses when we hear that. I take his hand, feeling so attached to her already, that I’ll cry if he doesn’t want her too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s been given a tennis ball that he launches through the air as soon as the dog’s off her leash. She chases it, leaping into the air and tumbling back down in a mess of legs and fur before sprinting back to us. I giggle and Richie loops his arm around my shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What are we gonna do with a dog called no, Eds?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘She’s called Nova,’ I say, before I can stop myself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie doesn’t miss a beat. ‘You’ve fucking met her,’ he laughs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m sorry.’ I pick up the ball where the dog’s dropped it at my feet and throw it back into the air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why are you sorry?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘This was meant to be your thing, you wanted a dog first and I’ve fucking gone and picked her-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey. This isn’t for me, it’s for us. I could have got a dog anytime, but I didn’t. I wanted to do this with you, as a family. ’    </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Is that why you said no to start with?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Wasn’t sure I was ready. Things have changed a lot.’ Richie squeezes me into his side as Nova jumps at us, frustrated we’re ignoring the ball. ‘But we’re good. You seem so much more relaxed.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I am.’ Nova jumps again, pressing her paws against my chest. ‘Sit,’ I tell her. She does, watching me intently. ‘Good girl. Sit,’ I repeat, reaching down for the ball. She stays still, focus fixed on my hand for a long moment, before I throw the ball and she follows it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Cute.’ Richie flicks my ear. ‘And I don’t mind that you found her. Means we don’t have to agonize over picking the right dog. Gotta take the perks where we can.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We stay for another hour, throwing the ball and testing out what tricks Nova knows. She collapses at our feet when she’s had enough, rolling over to show us her belly, which Richie takes full advantage of. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We take Nova home with us that afternoon. She’s nervous when we get back to the house, hesitantly following Richie around for the guided tour, narrating in his worst British accent that she tolerates beautifully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What do we do now?’ I ask, while Richie rifles through the bag of dog supplies we bought last week. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughs. ‘I dunno, hang out with her? You can find a home for this.’ He hands me the food and water bowls. ‘It’s a shame you can’t run with her, she’d probably love that, the speed she was going chasing after the ball.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You could come running too,’ I say, not able to finish without laughing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, fuck you, laugh at your own joke.’ Richie chucks me a piece of rope from the bag. ‘Shall we show her the bottom of the garden?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nova runs circles around us when we sit in the grass, playing tug of war with me, while Richie takes photos to share with the Losers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I reckon she’ll be easy to train,’ I say, snapping Richie out of the daydream he was having while waving his hand back and forth against Nova’s tail. ‘Tricks with a frisbee and stuff.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie squeaks. ‘Cute cute cute. You’re gonna be one of those insufferable youtube dog dads.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No. Not for fucking youtube. It’s for her.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nova rolls around on her back, batting Richie’s hands with her paws, panting whenever he gets past her defenses to pat her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can’t believe the old owners left her outside on her own,’ he sighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I swallow. ‘What if that happens when I disappear? She could get stuck in the garden.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie shrugs. ‘We can put a little flap for her in the side door or something.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, okay.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks up, catching the worry on my face. ‘I’m here everyday Eds, it’ll only be a couple of hours max if you gap it. She’s not gonna be neglected again.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No way.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We’re gonna hang out with her so much she’ll be sick of us.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nova climbs into Richie’s lap, licking his face as he smiles, wrapping his arms around her. ‘That’s right,’ he sing songs. ‘I love you so fucking much already.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I take a photo, laughing at the blur I’ve caught as she pushes Richie onto his back to climb all over him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eds, help.’ Richie spits a mouthful of fur. ‘Distract her.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I let him suffer for a moment before standing and clicking my fingers in the space next to me. Nova whips her head up and wiggles her bum, ready to bounce off Richie’s chest. I start walking back towards the house patting my leg and Nova follows, jumping up to lick my fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re too soft with her,’ I say, leaving Richie alone in the grass. ‘She’s figured you out already.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He catches up to us on the patio, kissing me on the back of the neck, and I know exactly what he means about doing this as a family. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Friday 26th February 2021 (Richie is 44, Eddie is 44)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> Eddie and I are making the most of an overcast morning, trying to wear Nova out before the impending rain. She’s sat next to me, staring across the park to the trees at the far end of the grass with fierce concentration. She’s waiting patiently for the signal to run into the trees and find Eddie from his hiding spot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nova worships the ground Eddie walks on. It’s ironic, after he slept on the idea for so long, and still insists he can’t look after her properly, but I knew as soon as I saw his face at the shelter that she’d be his dog as much as mine. She figures out, quicker than I ever did, that you always want to be on Eddie’s good side. If he’s in the room, she wants to be the closest thing to him and I cannot blame her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s spent the last three weeks trawling through training videos. Nova’s smart, she picks things up whip quick and wants to learn. She’s already nailed the basics and moved onto frisbee tricks, launching herself up and over Eddie’s back as he throws the disc over his shoulder. But the game we’re playing now is her favourite. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her attention stays on me for a long moment after I whistle and then she sprints into the trees, darting in and out until she finds Eddie and nudges him into view.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie usually sends her back to me for another round, but he calls time, running back to me, pink and laughing with Nova at his side, and I feel like I’m going to burst. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nova’s a high wire all day anyway, so Eddie takes her running in the evening rain with Mike, his new running partner. I find out that Eddie’s been brushing off Mike’s invitation to run together for a while, fuck knows why, but he relented once he knew it benefit Nova, and they take her with them in the evenings most days now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m at work when Eddie sends me a photo of the three of them, drenched and happy. The station had a schedule shuffle in the New Year and I’ve moved to the weekday drive time slot. It’s a much better fit, way more suited to the jokey features and audience participation I’m good at. Eddie always told me I was never cool enough for the weekend spot and I think he was probably right. I’d got shit from the Losers about how much extra road rage my voice was going to elicit, but they were wrong, people want quality bullshit when they’re stuck in traffic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Regardless of what anything thinks, it feels like the right place for me to be. I’m still orbiting around Eddie, like a comet on a wobbly trajectory, but it doesn’t feel like I’m lost on the dark side of a planet on my own any longer. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Tuesday 23rd March 2021 (Richie is 45, Eddie is 44)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> The first time Nova’s in the room when Eddie disappears, she goes nuts, barking and walking around the room looking for him. Then she starts bringing me his clothes, dropping them in the world’s saddest pile at my feet, like I have the ability to refill them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie couldn’t sleep last night and was up early running, so we were all already on edge from the change of routine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I put away the clothes and finish what’s left of Eddie’s breakfast, giving the dog his toast crusts. We were planning to go for a walk, so I take her, but on a different route, not to Eddie’s therapy session like we usually do on Tuesdays. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I text Mike after dinner, when it doesn’t look like Eddie’s coming back and he takes Nova on a late evening run. She hesitates by the door before leaving, knowing what’s missing and looking at me for answers I don’t have. She comes back tired and happy, with a puffed out Mike, who stays for a beer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I let Nova sleep in bed with me as a treat for a troubling day, knowing it’s mostly a treat for me. I lie awake for a while, the dog as my little spoon, wondering how she’ll react if she sees Eddie reappear and hoping I get to see it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wake up in the middle of the night to the combined noise of Eddie swearing and the dog barking, her tail slapping me in the face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey, not my face, hey, sit, calm down.’ Eddie laughs, trying to get the dog off the bed, while she scales his body to lick his face. ‘The bed, Richie?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s a treat.’ I blink at him, after turning on the light.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hmm, a treat for who?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie climbs over the bed to kiss me. I brace for it, thinking it’s gonna be a chaste kiss, maybe a little fruity, but he lays a full pash on me, like an old Hollywood movie kiss, where you think someone’s gonna break their neck from the force of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m getting into it, trying to get the covers out of the way between us, so Eddie can get between my legs, when he jumps back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ah- Dog just licked my ass cheek.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I laugh so loud it sets off a new round of barking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh my god, I’m getting some water. I was trying to have a moment.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nova follows Eddie around the house, sitting on the floor at the end of the bed patiently when they come back. He settles under my arm and pats the bed, letting Nova curl up over the covers by our legs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Where you been hot stuff?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘With you. Young you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Was it one of those days you flashed your junk around and I spent the next week…’ Eddie has an existentially serious look on his face. ‘Oh god. I came out to you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah,’ Eddie says breathless, pushing the hair on my forehead back, even though it wasn’t in the way of my eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘And that made you wanna kiss the life out of me?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie groans. ‘No- I just- I wish I was seventeen too. I couldn’t stop thinking, when we were in the basement that night, how much I wished I was seventeen, but I knew everything I know now, and I was brave, so I could have given you that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eds-‘ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie tucks himself into my chest and we hold each other until he relaxes. It twists something deep inside me, knowing he spent that visit thinking about that, while I shit my pants not knowing whether he’d speak to me again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That kiss was the next best thing. For sure,’ I say, when he looks at me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Were you okay after I left?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I dunno. I thought people would look at me and just know, because I’d admitted it to someone.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘But they didn’t?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It felt like they did at the time.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie nods, looking sad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Nothing about Derry changed, but I changed,’ I say. ‘That laid a foundation for this, I think.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Good.’ Eddie strokes my jaw with his finger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t you get whiplash? Going from eating breakfast before the dog walk, to nursing a love sick teenager having a meltdown?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, it’s disorientating as fuck, but I had some prep time today. I could see you watching me from your bedroom for ages before you came down. I was expecting you to be a bit tender about something.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m so sorry I left you out there alone.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’ve dealt with so much of my shit.’ Eddie puts his finger over my mouth before I can interrupt. ‘And we don’t need to have another conversation about how you don’t care, but I’m going back in time to be there for you. You have nothing to apologize for.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We kiss again and this time it’s soft, like we’re whispering words of a confession to each other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thank you,’ I say, pulling Eddie’s arm around my neck so he’ll put his hand in my hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I liked that coat you gave me,’ he replies, ruffling the hair behind my ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Generous.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Everything else you gave me was fucking ugly.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I used to think about where you were coming from that day, all the time. It was the most information you’d given me at that point. And it was today. It was just today.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What have you been doing? It’s the same day I left?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah. I calmed down the dog. She went looking for you, brought me your shorts when she couldn’t find you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck, that’s cute.’ Eddie scratches between Nova’s ears and she lifts her head to pant at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We saw Bill at lunchtime, Mike took her for a run, and we just hung out the rest of the day. I let her swim in the pool for a bit.’ Eddie tuts at me. ‘Threw the frisbee in there a bunch of times, you know, all her favourite stuff.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Were you okay?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I was fine.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We smile at each other, in a tiny curve of lips, and I realize that I have actually been okay today. I’m not hiding or underplaying anything to save face, and I know it won’t always feel like this when Eddie leaves, but sometimes it will, and sometimes might be enough. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It was good having Nova with you?’ Eddie asks, watching the path of his own fingers stroke across my chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah. It’s fucking ace.’ I tilt his face towards me to kiss him. ‘She’s my little buddy. It’s good, Eds. I think we’re good.’ </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Wednesday 7th April 2021 (Richie is 45, Eddie is 44)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> It’s starting to get dark, as lots of people pass Nova and I on the sidewalk, while we wait for Eddie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We’ve been doing laps of the block while Eddie attends his first Chrono-Impairment support group meeting, inside a small community center on the edge of Burbank.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was meant to finish thirty minutes ago, so I’m thinking of going inside to check he’s still with us, when he comes barreling out the door, pointing down the street at something I can’t see, and I fall in line with his manic power walking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It was okay?’ I ask, after half a block of watching Eddie gesticulate wildly, trying to talk without actually saying anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, holy shit, my head hurts. There were people our age, parents, whose kids, these kids are time travelling, but they can control it sometimes.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Wait, what?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie walks backwards in front of me so we can face each other. ‘It’s a second generation thing. The parents have a latent gene or something they pass on, I guess I must have an active gene-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I grab the front of his shirt to steer him out of the way of a tree stump he’s about to walk backwards into. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Where are we going?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Park?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s getting dark and we don’t have any of the dog's things, but I’m not gonna say no to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘There’s one two blocks away. Keep going straight. Careful-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie mostly dodges a fire hydrant, stubbing his toe before he goes back to walking beside me. Nova’s picked up his energy and tries to circle us while we walk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How many people were there?’ I ask. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Twenty-ish. It was a mob when I walked in. I’m the first new face this year.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Was there anyone older like you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We reach the park and I sit down in the grass next to Eddie. Nova lies with her head in his lap, her tail brushing my leg, as Eddie tries to swat away the flies that float around his head in the dimming light.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I touch Eddie’s leg gently, bringing his attention back to me. ‘What did you talk about?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I got grilled. You know, all the same stuff I told the guys in September. Then it was mostly like a group therapy session. Everyone offloading their worry into the collective pool, without it actually going anywhere.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay. That’s what we thought it might be. Was it a good thing to go?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I think so.’ Eddie takes my hand. ‘I’m sorry I made you stay outside. You should have been there. It’s for families too. I should have come out to get you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you going back?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Next week, yeah.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ll come with you then.’ I squeeze his knee. ‘Eds, I’m so stoked it went okay.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lays back, looking at the sky, and it reminds me of how I’d find him waiting for me in the clearing sometimes.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I think I could help them,’ Eddie says, and I’m not sure if he’s talking to himself or to me. ‘I know a lot about this stuff. I’m lucky I met Henry when I did and he told me what to do. I could do that for them.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘They don’t know all the tricks?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No. The kids are all trying to hide wherever they turn up and wait for it to pass. They aren’t troubleshooting.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie glances at me, a look on his face that’s rife with vulnerability, making him look twenty years younger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’d be so great helping people, if that’s something you wanted to do.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’ve said that before. The running thing.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I meant with rich yuppies, but yeah, whip those kids into shape.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘They’re all doing the same thing as us, trying to keep each other safe.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s voice drifts as he closes his eyes, the corner of his mouth turning up, betraying that he’s pleased with himself. Nova turns to me with her dog smile, all teeth and droopy tongue, like she knows exactly what a monumental moment this is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hope this can be something that focuses Eddie and gives him some purpose. He fucking deserves to lean into this and do something good with it. </span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Monday 31st May 2021 (Richie is 45, Eddie is 44) </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I reappear down the block from the house, dodging through the bushes to avoid any of the neighbours, out on a late night stroll. I’m ready to launch into a rant when I open the front door, but catch myself when I see Richie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s on the couch, Nova splayed out over his chest, both of them asleep with their mouths open. I lean back against the door, watching them breathe together, Richie’s hand rising and falling gently where he’s holding Nova’s belly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She notices me first, her ears pricking up when I open the fridge. She barks and Richie bangs his head on the arm of the sofa as he wakes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck.’ He holds her from vaulting over the back of the sofa towards me. ‘Whose that? Huh? It’s Daddy.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do. Not. Call me that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oooh, he’s grumpy. Did Daddy end up flashing his bits around in the front garden again?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I ended up half way down the block! I had to fucking army roll through the bushes to get back here.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie cackles, letting go of the dog and they both join me in the kitchen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes the peanut butter and cheese out of my hands, before squeezing my arms against my sides, kissing my cheek and lining up to sing off key in my ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I might be covered in dog hair, but I still smell goood-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No-‘ I push his face away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Baby girl, I wanna love you in my board shorts, watch me go zoom zoom.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Stop butchering that song.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You like it,’ he giggles. ‘I can see your junk Eds. You like it.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s not what I like.‘ I wiggle free and we grin at each other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You making crackers?’ Richie nods to the pile of food I’ve accumulated. ‘I’ll finish if you wanna get dressed.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nova follows me into the bedroom, bringing me her rope toy and I have to tug her back into the kitchen with me once I’m dressed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie slides me a plate of crackers across the kitchen island when I sit down. ‘Can’t believe you vanished during post coital cuddles this morning. Bit rude.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I roll my eyes, peeling off a slice of cheese and sneaking Nova the cracker. ‘I ended up in the freezing cold, you definitely got the better deal.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Your feet okay?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah,’ I wave him off. ‘I was right by the box. Saved again by my knight-’ I wrinkle my nose in faux disdain. ‘-in clashing Hawaiian print.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Aww, did we have fun?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, it was early on, that day you had math homework and we ate all those marshmallows.’ Richie’s brain works overtime, searching for the memory. ‘You laid on me after we wrestled, in the exact same position you were in when I left this morning. It was like you could tell.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I was not thinking about that, trust me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know,’ I sigh. ‘Was it okay that I stroked your hair that day?’ I place my hands flat on the countertop to ground myself. ‘I didn’t mean to, I just forgot and I know we hadn’t talked about any of that stuff yet and-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie places his hands flat over mine. ‘It was okay. I just wanted to be close to you. I was pleased.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I crossed a line.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You didn’t. Eds, you were dicking about with me like normal, I was stoked. Seeing you was the only good thing I had.’ Richie flips my hands, stroking his fingers over my wrists. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You were sixteen.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘And you’re the love of my life. You walked that line so fucking good, I felt so safe with you. I still feel that way. You showed me that you loved me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You know that’s what it was now, but you didn’t then.’ I hold Richie’s wrists to ground myself, wanting to lean back and tip myself off the stool, onto the ground into a messy heap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie grips my arms back to hold me steady, reading my mind. ‘Please don’t be hard on yourself. I know you didn’t mean to do it and it was okay. I was okay then and I am okay now.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod, letting the small trickle of relief rush over me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eat your fucking crackers,’ Richie nods to the plate, letting go. ‘The dog’s about to go nuclear if you don’t give her another one.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I laugh and drop her another, to stop her silently begging next to me, while Richie faffs about the kitchen singing one of the songs off the mixtape. I happily watch him, doing an uncoordinated gangly dance, long after I’ve finished eating.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Wednesday 14th July 2021 (Richie is 45, Eddie is 44)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> The support group changes my life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone in the group has approached the condition with confusion and anxiety, trying their best to hide it. The exact same thing I did for decades. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I look at the kids, who are mostly teenagers, and wonder if it’s easier for them with parents that know. Telling my Mom at fifteen wasn’t remotely an option, if I ever wanted to see the outside of my bedroom again, but I’m relieved it’s different for most of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The second generation kids have sporadic control over where they go. They can think themselves into a place or a time, but they can’t decide when they’ll time travel. It’s like the subconscious part of their brain, which spits them into the orbit of important places and people is accessible to them, in a way it never is to me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I spend the first month of meetings arguing with the parents about the things the kids need to know to stay safe. How to pick locks and pockets, setting up lockers in places they frequently visit, defense training and how to get fast when they run, which some of the kids have figured out on their own. The parents all push back, only relenting when one of the kids jumps to visit their grandparents during Canadian winter and has a scare with frostbite.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’d looked over to Richie in that meeting, when I finally had everyone on my side, and the moment we locked eyes I knew, with superb clarity, that this is what I should be doing with my time. I didn’t need to ask his opinion. He’d hooked his little finger in mine, where our hands were dangling in-between the uncomfortable plastic seats, and the decision was made. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I plan lessons with Carol, the group organizer, who thanks me for sticking my ground on something she’s been bringing up for years. We cover lock picking, tricks for stealing clothes and pickpocketing, ways to troubleshoot where and when you are, and the best places to find money. I make a list of all the suburbs the kids live in and research the safest places in their neighbourhoods for them to hide out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We start a weekly running club, with drills in the park or a slog through one of the mountain paths. Nova usually comes along and the kids declare her our mascot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie comes to every meeting. He doesn’t talk much, for once, but he listens. And he’s there whenever I ask, his support unwavering for every errand I ask him to run, or plan I want to troubleshoot. He’s there every single time. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Friday 6th August 2021 (Richie is 45, Eddie is 44)</span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I come back from seeing Richie in July 1992 feeling elated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie joins me in the kitchen while I’m searching through the fridge, unusually nonchalant about my return to the present. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What’s got you so peppy?’ He asks, leaning on the kitchen island.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘22nd July 1992.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh no.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Your fucking face when you saw me.’ I lean out from the fridge to grin. ‘I’m pretty sure you said ‘wow’ under your breath when you were poking me up on the log. Do you remember?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Mean-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It was so funny-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Christ, have you </span>
  <em>
    <span>seen</span>
  </em>
  <span> yourself Eddie, like ever? My dick basically blew off. And why do I always get a load of shit for my soppy fucked up face whenever you come back. Like you aren’t so stupid gone on me, you bend the fabric of time and space to visit me. It’s not enough that I’m right here with you the whole time, you’re so dumb fucking in love with me, you keep shitting yourself out all over the place. But yeah, it’s my fucking face.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie picks up the dog, whose licking the juice I’ve dripped all over the floor and goes back into the garden. I stand alone, waiting for the penny he’s dropped to stop spinning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I clean up the floor, watching from the doorway as Richie rolls face first into the pool with all his clothes on. Nova follows, launching herself into his arms, barking as he splashes her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I slink out a while later, dipping my feet in the pool. Richie floats towards me on his back, his fingertips long past wrinkled, holding my ankles and looking at me upside down, the end of his nose pink and starting to burn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m really sorry Rich.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He blinks at me and sighs, standing so we can talk to each other properly. I smooth back his hair, wet and slick, leaving my hands on his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t make fun of me. I was so in love with you and I couldn’t have you then-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Rich-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘And it hurt. I was going down to the clearing that day to cry in peace because I missed you. I had my copy of your mixtape. I was such a mess and-‘ Richie shrugs and mimes stabbing himself in the chest. ‘It wasn’t funny for me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m so fucking sorry,’ I say, unable to make eye contact. I’ve completely ruined what should have been a poignant moment of reunion for us. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sometimes you come back here with this look, like you’ve fallen in love with me all over again, and sometimes you come back and just poke the wound.’ Richie tilts my head towards him. ‘I like the first one better.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Me too. I’m sorry I hurt you.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie smiles and I cling to the image of it like a lifeline. ‘Make it up to me?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod. ‘Okay.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie leads me down to the bottom of the garden, his hand held softly in mine. Nova follows us, shaking water all over our legs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Kiss me until I forget I was ever sad over you?’ Richie asks, once I’m sat in his lap in the shade.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can do that.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We stay there until my lips are numb and I can’t remember ever being sad either. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Tuesday 5th October 2021 (Richie is 45, Eddie is 25 &amp; 45)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> I walk through the front door after work as Eddie vaults off the couch to slam his hand over my mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t fucking speak,’ he whispers, staring me down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My pulse spikes, body running cold while I scan the room for whatever spooked him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m asleep in the spare room,’ Eddie continues, letting go of my mouth. ‘Did you get my text?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I was driving,’ I whisper back. ‘Why are you being weird? I’ve seen you before.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m twenty five.’ Eddie shoves his hand back over my mouth as I gasp. ‘No, you cannot see me. Richie, you can’t.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck.’ I clench my body in frustration. ‘I have to. You came here when you were twenty fucking five? Fuck off. Did you know? What did you think this was?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I was house sitting for friends in the Hamptons.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh my god.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Richie, I can’t see you. I already saw the dog, it’s fucked.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You met our dog when you were a fresh twenty five? Eds, I’m gonna pass out.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t-’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How long have you been here?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie glances at the clock, where it’s just gone 8pm. ‘About an hour. He’s been asleep for most of it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Let me peek in there.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I have to.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why? I’m right here, it’s not important.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s important to me. I have so many gaps, and you don’t have any photos-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘They’re with Myra. I don’t want to speak to her, I can’t-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m not asking you to. Really. But you can give me this if you’re asleep. I just wanna look at your face. I promise. I won’t ruin anything.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie shuffles on the spot, spinning in a little crescent moon before he leaves me to approach the spare room. I hang back while he opens the door, calling me over with a flick of his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stand crouched down, with my head propped on his shoulder, and for a glorious ninety seconds I take my fill. His face is serious, even in sleep, thinner and paler than it is now, his hair short and slightly darker. Eddie’s given him one of my t-shirts to wear, which makes my toes curl inside my sneakers. He’s just as gorgeous as I always thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s eyelashes flutter as he mumbles in his sleep and that’s the last I see before I’m shoved out of the doorway, back down the hall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I spend the rest of the evening in our bedroom with the dog. I let her lick my face and roll all over the bed as much as she wants, while I slot the new image of Eddie into my mind forever, where no-one can ever take it away from me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hate so many things about time travel, but this is something I love. When Eddie or I from another time get touched by this good thing we have now. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Tuesday 9th November 2021 (Richie is 45, Eddie is 45 &amp; 45)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> I’m cooking dinner, while Eddie’s out at running practice with Mike and the Chrono-Impairment group. I’m hoping he comes back so hungry he’ll want to eat straight away, and then let me kiss him on the couch for a bit before he showers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I used to hate coming home to find Eddie wasn’t here, but most of the time now I don’t mind it. Compared to the same time last year our life has opened up enormously. Eddie’s let people in and he’s a better man for it. Our friends have been supportive, Mike especially, and Eddie now has a focus to pour all of his energy and laser focus into. I could happily spend the rest of my life like this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a bang in the bedroom, followed by a muffled shout. I think about leaving the kitchen to investigate, but I know from the familiar tilt and rhythm of the noise that it’s Eddie dropping in from another time. He’ll come out here when he’s ready. I take an extra piece of fish out of the freezer in case he’s hungry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie joins me in the kitchen a minute later, sliding under my arm and leaning up for a kiss. He looks exactly the same as today’s Eddie, so he can’t be coming from far. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s 9th November 2021,’ I say, kissing the tip of his ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leans back, grinning at me wolfish, like he’s discovered the toy rattling around at the bottom of the cereal box. ‘I’m from February next year.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay Satan, enough of that face.’ I tap his nose with the end of my wooden spoon. ‘Love of my life is about to walk through the door.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m the love of your life, asshole.’ Eddie takes the spoon, pushing me back against the fridge with his shoulder and licking into my mouth, sending my knees to mush. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ve got his leg around my waist, shirt bunched up, so I can rub his back, when Eddie and Nova come home and find us, front door slamming behind them.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We pull apart in a comical slide of slow motion lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey Eds, good run?’ I ask, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nova walks over, looking back and forth between the two Eddies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie peels himself out of my arms and crouches down to pet her as she whines in confusion, settling after a moment to lick his face. Then Eddie slinks off down the hallway, abandoning me like a traitor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t be mad,’ I say, holding up my hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s still standing by the door, forehead crease going full whack, pulling reams of guilt out of me like handkerchiefs out of a magician's pocket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sorry.’ He walks over, unclenching his fists. ‘I thought you were kissing someone else and you looked... into it. I just saw red.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Guilty. Totally into it.’ I lean in, kissing his cheek. ’It was with you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, alright, you can fucking shut up now.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie kisses me on the corner of my mouth, pressing me against the fridge for a moment, in what I think is going to be a lovely blend of dejavu, until he goes to move past me. I grab his waist and shoulder, dipping him so I can kiss him dirty. He tastes different to the other Eddie, salty from the sweat on his upper lip, making my head swim. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If you’re gonna kiss me, fucking kiss me,’ he says, pulling away. ‘Don’t just moan all over my face.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I push him back to standing, licking down his neck and moaning in my best porno impression, making the dog bark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ew, not this again.’ Eddie skeeves out of my grasp, grabbing slices of cucumber out of the salad bowl. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You taste better than he did,’ I say, as Eddie rounds the hallway corner to shower, flipping me off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I finish making dinner in the silence of the empty kitchen. The extra fish didn’t defrost in time, so I scooped an avocado into the salad, which both Eddie’s pick out and demolish between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a tension in the room I can only describe as charged, and I know they’ve been plotting something in the bedroom. Whenever I look at either of them they’re eye fucking me, like it’s about to become a lost art form. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I cough to break the tension and they both raise an eyebrow to me, uncannily in unison.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Future Eddie quiz time. Buzz to answer.’ I wink. ‘What were you doing when you disappeared?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie doesn’t pause his mouthful to answer. ‘I was about to sit on your cock.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I choke on the water I was sipping, while present Eddie kicks me and slaps his future self. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That's why you jumped me in the kitchen?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah,’ Eddie grins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I turn to present Eddie, hamming up. ‘So hot for it Eds. Wow.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie runs his foot up and down my leg, making me feel prickly all over. I’m talking a big game, knowing he could knock the feet out from under me and he wouldn't even blink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Stop feeding the dog,’ Eddie retaliates. ‘She’s eaten and you’re not subtle.’  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I divert my hand, putting the torn off piece of fish in my mouth hastily, looking apologetically at Nova with my bottom lip popped out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I drop the questions. Cock sitting is as much as I need to know about the future and we finish eating in sexually fused silence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We were talking before,’ present Eddie begins, head resting on his hand. ‘While we’re both here, with no plans tonight. We could take advantage of it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I swallow, both loving and hating where I think this is going. ‘I feel like the woman from that Notebook movie.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why?’ present Eddie asks. ‘Because you forgot how to fucking read?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I gasp. ‘That is not what happens. She never gets the letters!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘She also never gets fucked by two guys at once,’ future Eddie interrupts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘She’d probably be game though,’ present Eddie says, giving me the tiniest smile, as my eyes volley between them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you?’ They both ask in unison. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I start laughing in a burst of nerves. ‘That was terrible. A terrible line. Did you fucking rehearse that in the bedroom before? That’s what you were doing?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie glares, kicking me again and I know I’m right. I lock eyes with Eddie from three months time, who already knows exactly how this night plays out. He’s biting his lip a little, eyes shining. I feel like I don’t really need to ask, but I’m going to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Future Eddie. Hands on the buzzer.’ He indulges me. ‘How does this night play out?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His foot joins Eddie’s on my leg. ‘Do you really need to ask?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I’ve told Richie to strip down to his boxers and wait in the bedroom while we clear up dinner. I shouldn’t be nervous, it’s just Richie, we have sex </span>
  <em>
    <span>all the time</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but I’ve thought about this scenario a lot and I almost can’t believe we’re going through with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pop my head around the door and find him chewing his thumb. He watches as I walk over, going cross eyed when I get close and kiss his mouth. He wiggles his nose at me and I kiss that too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Wanted to give you a moment to think it over. You still keen?’ I ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah,’ Richie replies, his voice low and throaty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A coil of lust settles into my stomach, hot and sure, incredibly lucky that he wants to indulge me. I sit on the edge of the bed next to him, hand on his stomach. ‘I wanna talk through what we’re thinking. Nothing that we haven’t done before, no double penetration or anything. We want to make you feel good, you’re so good to us, Rich.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He blinks, soft and stupid all at once. ‘Ha, um, didn’t think I’d be getting a declaration right before a threesome. Gotta love it Eds. That all sounds okay. You always have the best ideas.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We also wanted to edge you. If you want.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I feel Richie tense under my hand. We’ve tried this a couple of times and Richie likes it a lot. I like the way it makes him flushed and pliant, and grin at me stupidly, like we’re the only two people alive.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods, tucking his hot face into my neck for a moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m gonna go get Eddie. You want anything? Water?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Nuh uh, just some hot loving please.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Changed my mind. Have a great wank.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie flings his boxers across the room, taking lube and condoms out of the side table drawer, as I leave the room. He’s pressing himself back into the bed in a long stretch of limbs when I come back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you wanna try five rounds?’ I ask, standing at the side of the bed, as future Eddie comes up behind me. Richie was right before, we have been planning what we’re gonna do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Jesus, okay. Five?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We can stick to four.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I would never have suggested five, but Eddie insisted and he knows how this plays out. Four makes Richie drool and press into me in a sweaty, non verbal mess afterwards, that I have to bring back to full consciousness with my voice and the soft pull of his hair between my hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck it,’ he says, only half convinced. ‘Five. You only live once, even if that once crosses over into a sexy menage a- wow, what are you…’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie goes slack jawed as I’m being peeled out of my shirt by Eddie, his head hooked over his shoulder so we can both watch Richie’s reaction. I do this for him sometimes, let him watch me strip, when I’m feeling indulgent and he’s been particularly complimentary. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s visibly panting, eyes huge, watching Eddie’s hand stroke my stomach. I feel myself flush, embarrassed that I’m sharing this with him. Eddie peels back the front of my shorts to show off my cock, half hard and pink, before I pull myself away and climb onto the bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I try my best to slide behind Richie and manhandle him into the vee of my legs, while he watches my future self strip. I pull Richie’s hand off of his cock, where he’s absentmindedly stroking himself and pull him flush against my front. I kiss the side of his neck and wrap my arms around his tummy, stroking through the hair there. Richie strokes my arms, kissing up and down my cheekbone, paying attention to me again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Should I take my glasses off?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, you can keep them on.’ I tap his forehead. ‘Safeword?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Cheezits,’ he grins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What do you do if you can’t talk?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You gonna put something in my mouth?’ Richie licks my jaw. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pinch the fold where his belly meets his groin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tap twice to check in, continually tap to stop,’ he says, demonstrating on my arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hmm, good. My safeword is Mayo.'</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘So sexy.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s not meant to be sexy,’ Eddie interrupts, crawling onto the bed by Richie’s legs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You can use Tuna,’ Richie says, giggling. He’s high as fuck and we haven’t even started. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It stands for Clinic, not Mayonnaise.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Shush.’ Richie puts his finger to my lips and I kiss it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s kneeling and leaning in towards us, going to kiss Richie, I think, but he dodges at the last moment, kissing me instead. I eye roll into it, a very flashy display for Richie’s benefit, not that he needs any further winding. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh my god, I knew it, I fucking knew you did this. You totally fuck yourself. Eddie. I need to come, I need to come right now-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie grabs Richie’s chin before he can finish and bites into his mouth, climbing properly into his lap and ruining our plans. We were meant to build up to this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pinch Eddie’s nipple hard and he pulls away gasping. Richie slumps back against my shoulder, a dead weight, his eyes closed and I take advantage of it to poke Eddie back down the bed into position. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I slick my hands and circle my thumb and forefinger in a ring around Richie’s cock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Rich, we’re gonna start now. Tell me when you get close.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Close.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Actually?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m good, no you’re good,’ Richie giggles. ‘Touch me. Oh my god.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hold him at the base, running my other hand in a tight fist up his length. I loosen my grip before I reach the head, then hold him there loosely, my thumb rubbing light circles across his frenulum. Richie arches his back into it and I wait for him to settle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I repeat this a couple of times, firming my grip at the head each time. Eddie’s lying, his head between Richie’s knees, watching. Richie’s watching him right back and I know the anticipation will be killing him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wink, giving Eddie the signal and he starts nosing and kissing up Richie’s thigh, as I start stroking Richie in earnest, rolling his sac between my other hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck, fuck fuck, oh. This is dirty. You’re playing dirty Eds.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Obviously not dirty enough if you’re still speaking in sentences,’ I say, watching Eddie grin against Richie’s leg and start to suck. Richie moans and I feel the sheets tighten next to my leg. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Put your fingers in your mouth?’ I ask, kissing his neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie shakes his head, no longer coherent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You want my tongue?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turns his head, eating the last word out of my mouth. We stay like that, my hand mostly playing with the head of his cock, mouths locked, bruises licked into his thighs, until he calls time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Close. Eds, stop.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pull my hands away and Eddie sits back, revealing a line of pink marks all the way up Richie’s legs, which he rubs his thumb into, making Richie shiver. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How long do you think you need?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Couple of minutes.’ Richie grins, licking my nose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We rearrange him, so he’s lying sideways across the bed, hips on the edge, legs hanging over the side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I kneel on the floor between his legs, his eyes flicking down to me when I open the lube bottle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m gonna suck you and finger you, yeah?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay,’ Richie says, screwing his eyes shut as his head thumps back onto the mattress. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie beckons me, so I kneel up, letting him swirl two fingers over the head of my cock collecting pre-come. He does the same to Richie and himself, rubbing his fingers over Richie’s lips until he opens wide. I know when the taste hits his tongue, because his eyes fly open and he makes an obscene noise, gripping Eddie’s wrist to hold his hand in place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘And I’m gonna kiss you, if you’re done with those fingers,’ Eddie says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie shakes his head. I’ve got a finger two knuckles deep, just teasing him. I press it hard against his prostate, making him shout, so Eddie can duck his head and lick between Richie’s lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pull Richie into my mouth, not really sucking him, mostly licking, and feel out for Eddie’s hand, rubbing my fingers into his palm when I find it, so we can synchronize our tongues. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie pulls his mouth free to swear when he clocks what we’re doing, and I grin around his cock, syncing my fingers on his prostate to the rhythm. His legs shake beside my head, while his feet rub up and down my back. Even pinned like this between two of us, he’s still finding ways to touch me up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie pulls his hand away after a couple of minutes and I stop, while Richie gasps and melts into the bed. He’s leaking a lot more than usual, making my mouth tacky, so I run to the kitchen for a glass of water, bringing a jug back to the bedroom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stand in the doorway and watch for a moment. They’re kissing, holding each other's faces and smiling so hard they keep misaligning their mouths. Eddie’s face is upside down to Richie, so they keep bashing chins and noses. I feel giddy at the thought that I’ll be the one doing that in three months time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie sees me and gestures for the water. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey Peter Parker, where'd you go?’ Richie asks, chasing Eddie with his mouth, until he spots me and we take a five minute break. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sit in Richie’s lap in the middle of the bed, rubbing my hands over his shoulders in a hug, while Eddie sits behind him, kissing along his neck and getting in the way of my hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How keyed up are you Rich?’ Eddie asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Six.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay.’ Eddie taps my nose, so I’ll look at  him. ‘We were lying about not trying anything new.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My eyebrows shoot up over Richie’s shoulder. We didn’t talk about this. Richie doesn’t say anything, but I feel him tense. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s low impact, but pretty intense. You heard of docking?’ Eddie says, asking Richie but looking at me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh,’ Richie says, flexing his hands where they’re resting on my ass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You wanna do it?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Uh huh.’ Richie sounds unhinged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I have no idea what this is. It’s one of those infuriating mobius strip situations. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You gotta kneel opposite each other, I’m gonna do all the work.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie kneels adjacent to us, in the middle of our hips. I hold my prick in one hand and Richie’s arm with my other and he does the same. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie leans forward, whispering. ‘Which Eddie are you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m Mayo,’ I reply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay, good.’ He pecks me on the lips, nearly toppling forward in the process. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie slaps Richie’s hip. ‘Okay Cheezits and Mayo, shut the fuck up.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I have no idea what we’re doing, by the way,’ I say, glaring at both of them. Richie bites his lip at me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s like kissing, dick kissing,’ Richie says, breathless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie takes the head of each of our pricks in his hands, rubbing them together in a tender kiss. My eyes flutter shut with the sensation, but I open them again immediately, desperately wanting to watch. Richie’s in the same state, eyes lidded, mouth panting and open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie holds Richie still, while he pulls my foreskin all the way back. It feels heavenly and I moan as it clicks what he’s about to do. He rolls my foreskin over the head of Richie’s dick, stroking back and forth over us where we’re joined. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I gush precome over the head of Richie’s cock, where it’s nestled inside me and we both whine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re making me wet. Eds. Fuck. What the fuck.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s so intense,’ I whimper, digging my fingers into Richie’s arm.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>I can’t take my eyes away from where we’re joined, three points of contact, two dicks and a hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s chanting a little ‘oh’ noise every time my foreskin nudges forwards to swallow him up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eddie-’ I look over at myself. ‘Good, right? Stroke yourself.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I move the hand that’s been holding myself steady and it takes everything up a notch. I could very easily come like this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s two handing Richie, watching my timing and offsetting his hand, so we’re working back and forth like a swing along the joined length of us. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s dick is soaked from the amount I’m leaking. His eyes are sealed shut, head tilted back, on the verge of tapping out when Eddie’s hand slows. I make a mental note to describe how his cock looked covered in me, the next time I want to make him hot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You good, Rich?’ Eddie asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Break, please.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re doing so good,’ Eddie says, stilling his hands, but keeping us pressed together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, really good Richie,’ I say, pushing his hair out of his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m gonna pull you out now.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie moans, shivering as my foreskin is pulled back and he pops free. He sags back, hands over his face, before I pull him forward to rest on my shoulder, stroking his back. His cock nudges my stomach, hot and hard and he flinches back. I stroke him loose, root to tip, holding him at the head as he settles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Shall we keep going?’ I ask. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie nods against my neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie whispers in my ear, embracing us both with his arms for a moment, before we propose the idea to Richie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you wanna watch us for a little bit?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie swallows and nods. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sit back in the pillows then.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We stay in the middle of the bed by Richie’s feet and I slide up behind Eddie, pushing his knees open with mine and nudging my cock into the small of his back. I pet down his stomach with my hands, down and down until I get to his cock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sweat is prickling my forehead, thinking about the line we might be crashing through, sharing this with Richie. It’s exceptionally weird and I’ll never forgive myself if this ruins sex for us. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Lube,’ Eddie signals with a nod of his head and Richie chucks me the bottle. I slick Eddie and go town, pressing a knuckle against his taint and ruffling his foreskin with my fist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t touch yourself,’ Eddie scolds, and Richie drops his hand, gripping his legs. ‘Just watch.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m mainly teasing, putting on a show, getting Eddie hot, but not close to finishing. Richie gapes at us, speechless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘This is what we do when you’re not here, but we want you,’ Eddie says, shuffling forward to stroke Richie’s legs and taking me with him. ‘We think about you. Watch your standup sometimes, or go through your instagram page. There’s that nice shirtless photo of you on the beach from last year.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s head thunks back against the wall. ‘Oh my god.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I press my face into Eddie’s back, flushed with embarrassment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Richie,’ Eddie asks, moving into his lap so I can gather them both in my hand and stroke them together. ‘Eddie’s gonna fuck you now.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah.’ Richie pushes up into my hand and moans, then pushes us both off him to roll over onto his stomach. ‘Gentle, be gentle.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s never asked for that before. I exchange a glance with Eddie and he nods for me to get behind Richie, while he presses between Richie’s arms to sit in front of him at the head of the bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What are you doing?’ Richie asks, his voice slow and syrupy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m watching you. I’m gonna watch your face while Eddie fucks you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie makes a pained noise, shaking his head. ‘No.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hard no?’ He holds Richie’s chin in his hand. ‘I’ll go help Eddie, watch you from the other end.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Will you kiss me?’ Richie asks, soft. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie laughs and sucks on Richie’s bottom lip. ‘Yes.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie tucks his head into Eddie’s neck pleased, while I press his back down and pull him onto his elbows. He moans and pushes back on the two fingers I’ve got waiting for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulls off them almost straight away and mumbles something to Eddie, who rolls his eyes and mimes to me to use my dick. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pinch Richie’s ass and he bounces forward, then glares at me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m right fucking here, about to make love to you, you can tell me yourself if you’re ready.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie giggles and sways back, bumping my hip. ‘You were too quiet. Forgot you were there.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hmm, better remind you then. Am I using a rubber?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie scoffs. ‘When do I ever not want your come in me?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I thumb his hole and slick myself, rubbing my tip against him, like I always do when we do this. Teasing us both. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie tries to hide his face in Eddie’s chest, but is stopped with a firm hand on his chin, tilting his head back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ve been looking forward to this,’ Eddie says, licking Richie’s nose. ‘Watching your face when I press inside. I know exactly how good this feels and now I want to see it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I press inside slowly, watching the shiver travel down Richie’s back towards me. Eddie moans, watching Richie’s face as I slide inside and bottom out, rolling my hips exactly how he likes it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ve been thinking about this when I masturbate for months,’ Eddie says, playing with Richie’s mouth with his fingers. ‘It was worth the wait.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I throb inside Richie, knowing Eddie’s words are as much for me as they are for Richie. I’m so turned on I could cry, with Richie sandwiched between us, open yet again to accommodating the strangest of things I throw at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I fold myself over, pressing my face into his back, rocking into him as soft but as deep as I can. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You can’t see Eddie’s face right now, but I can,’ Eddie tells Richie. ‘He’s losing his absolute shit just being inside you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck,’ Richie pants, clenching around me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t do that,’ Eddie says. ‘You’ll make him come.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I kneel, licking down Richie’s back as I go, gripping his hips hard and keeping just the tip of my prick inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Let me come, wanna come,’ Richie begs. ‘You can watch.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m going to.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re going to fuck me,’ I say. ‘Him, I mean,’ I continue, nodding towards Eddie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can’t.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know you can Richie.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie drops his head down into Eddie’s legs, pushing his ass into the air. I pull out and try to push Richie over onto his back but he won’t go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Richie?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Cheezits.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My stomach drops as the room turns to ice around me. Richie peeks out from under his arm, looking guilty. I glance at Eddie, who looks back at me neutrally and I seethe that he didn’t warn me Richie was going to safeword.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t touch my prick,’ Richie says, curling in on himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I rub his back. ‘I won’t. Hey, I won’t.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s crying when I get him to uncurl, lying on his back in between Eddie’s legs. He lets me hold his face and kiss him, but I keep my distance, not touching him anywhere else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It was his idea we do five rounds,’ I say, earning me a flick on the ear from Eddie. ‘But we can stop. Do you still wanna come?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t want to stop.’ Richie loops his arms around my neck. ‘But if you sit on my dick right now, I will dissolve, Raiders style. You on my dick is too much.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay.’ I look to Eddie for guidance about what happens now. He keeps my gaze as he kisses Richie’s neck and I want to push him away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I want something,’ Richie says, tugging my hair and my attention back to him. ‘I want a cock in my mouth right the fuck now. I want two cocks in my mouth, both of you. You said you wanted to make me feel good, that’s what makes me feel good, sucking your cock. And one of you is coming in my mouth, I don’t care who.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie laughs, pushing me sideways and nearly off the bed, if Richie hadn’t have caught me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m coming in your mouth,’ I shout on my path to the en suite. ‘Dick sucking before fucking Richie, couldn’t you have asked for this when we started?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stand in the doorway wondering if Eddie’s disappeared when I don’t get an answer, but Richie’s put himself to work. He’s watching for me, calling me over with a wave of his free hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie holds out his arm for me, so we can stand side by side at the edge of the bed. I nudge my cock against Richie’s lips, where they’re already spread open and full. He smiles, leaving me to nudge pre-come over his cheek in annoyance while he makes a mess of Eddie. I go to jossle Eddie out of the way, when Richie interveens, pulling off in a wet smack and pushing us together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Face each other, I need to get your dicks closer together.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I vie with Eddie for the best spot to hold in Richie’s hair and end up settling for his chin, thinking I can push the mess he’ll drip out of his mouth back in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slips both of us into his mouth. I clench my legs as my cock head nudges both the side of Richie’s mouth and Eddie’s prick, surrounded on all sides by soft, velvet heat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie can only get the tips in his mouth, but he sucks us long and liquid soft, making a mess of his chin and moaning louder than I’ve ever heard him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tries to take us deeper, gagging before Eddie steps back and Richie pulls me into his mouth properly, his hands gripping my hips hard as he looks up at me, smiling and blinking contently. I smile back, mouthing ‘I love you’, as he closes his eyes, pulling me closer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you feel good?’ Eddie asks, kneeling behind Richie, pulling his hair into a knot at the back of his head. ‘I wish you could see yourself.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie moans and I’m very close to coming. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Things I like about Richie Tozier,’ Eddie continues. ‘How good he sucks my cock.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie demonstrates, holding me in place when I buck forward. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re the only person I’ve let do this,’ Eddie says. Richie sobs, digging his fingers into my hips, as I shiver at the admission. ‘No-one else has touched me like this.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I clench my fists, wanting to dig them into Richie’s hair, but Eddie’s in the way, kissing across Richie’s neck. I rub them over Richie’s hands and he links our fingers together on my hips, as we moan together and I fill his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Holy shit. Richie.’ I sway on my feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘My prick hurts,’ he moans, leaning back onto Eddie, who tries to kiss him slow and dirty. Richie pushes his face away and flops back on the bed. I crawl up next to him, my legs wobbly and my mind blissfully calm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What do you want?’ I ask, leaning over him on all fours.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie licks his lips and shakes his head. His prick is dark and hard and he flinches when I stroke him gently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can you kneel up?’ Eddie asks, helping Richie up onto his knees. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How many rounds have I done?’ Richie asks, voice slurred, leaning his head back on my shoulder, sandwiched between us again, with Eddie in front of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Four. You can come this time.’ Eddie tells him. ‘You wanna come?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Please.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I push Richie upright. He’s got a vice grip on my forearm, like I’ll slink away and leave him if he lets go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I kiss his cheek and put my mouth next to his ear. ‘You sucked me so good, gorgeous. You can have whatever you want.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie presses back into me, in a lovely liquid roll of his body. Eddie’s mouthing instructions to me. Something I’ve done with Richie once before, that he loved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Cross your hands behind your back.’ I tell him, making my voice as stern as possible without any bite. I press Richie’s wrists into the small of his back, as he straightens his spine, dancing my fingertips over his palm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His stomach tenses, jumping back every time the head of his cock twitches and brushes against himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We’re just using hands, okay?’ I tell him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘When can I come?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Soon. We’re gonna decide when you’re ready.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie shakes his head into my neck, face wet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You wanna stop? You can come however you want, we just won’t do this,’ I say, softly pushing the hair away from his ear, so I can kiss him. He’s shaking, over sensitive everywhere. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We give him a minute, but he doesn’t respond. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I need you to answer, Richie.’ I take one of his hands and put it on my chest. ‘I love you and I need you to tap. Once to keep going with this, twice to stop.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie swallows, not opening his eyes. His hand rubs in a little circle then taps once, before returning behind his back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I kiss him gently and put my head on his shoulder so I can watch. ‘You taste like me,’ I tell him. He makes a small, pleased sound and holds himself still, waiting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s going to do all the work. He makes a tight fist, dragging it down and up Richie’s cock, and then off, waiting ten seconds before repeating. Richie alternates between chasing the hand with his hips and pulling backwards away from stimulation. I nudge him back into an upright position each time he moves.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Look at me, don’t look at your prick.’ I move to the side and hold his jaw in my hand, so he can’t anticipate. His eyelids are a flurry of motion, like the static on a rewinding VHS tape, rushing towards reset. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s very quiet in the room, as Richie’s moves beyond noise making. His mouth isn’t even open, it’s closed in on itself, like he’ll explode if he lets anything escape. The sound of Eddie’s slick fist is the only thing breaking the silence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m hard again, Rich.’ I tilt his head down. ‘That’s just from watching you, loving you. You know I love you, right? I love you like this, you make me feel so good, all the fucking time. Please tell me you feel good right now.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie whines, his voice breaking on a sob as a pair of tears roll down his nose, meeting at the corner of his mouth. I clean them up, as they keep coming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie pauses the off kilter rhythm he’s established to rub his fingertips back and forth, feather light over Richie’s cock head collecting and smearing pre-come, making Richie’s stomach jump in little waves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can you do another minute, sweetheart?’ I ask him. ‘We’re nearly there.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay,’ Richie says, sounding so calm I have to check he hasn’t come while I was talking. He’s still hard as a rock, prick red and gushing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ll tell you when.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie strokes Richie’s cock properly, with a quick fist and tight pressure under the head. Richie moans in a continuous rumble, until I tell him he can come. He stays suspended for another minute and I worry we’ve pushed him too far, that he’s too over sensitive to come. I kiss his neck and whisper that I love him until he lets go in a long, taut line of pleasure.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hold him, lying him back on the bed, as he grips my wrist like a vice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m not going anywhere,’ I say, trying to shake him loose. ‘Not going anywhere.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I curl up around him, aware that Eddie’s masturbating and going to come on Richie’s stomach, which I want to avoid colliding paths with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eddie’s gonna come on you,’ I say, as Richie shakes in my arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Good,’ he replies, slowly. ‘I can’t-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t do anything.’ I wrap his rag doll limp arm around my shoulder. ‘He just wants to look at you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie hums when he feels Eddie come hit his chest and rubs it into his skin, which I watch with mild disgust. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie takes my hand and I slap him, thinking he’s trying to get come on me, but he smiles, squeezing our hands together in a moment of quiet solidarity. We look at Richie, then back at each other, congratulating each other on a job well fucked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie blinks slowly at both of us. ‘You fucked the bones out of my body.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hold him tighter. ‘Guess you’ll just have to stay here then. Are you up for kissing?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No.’ Richie places his finger over my mouth. ‘Let me bask.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I kiss his ear, leaving my mouth there so I can whisper. ‘Where do you want my hands?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Everywhere.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I settle for rubbing his hip and scratching under his chin, enjoying how he preens and leans his jaw into my fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You like it,’ Richie tells me. ‘My stubble.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I like most things about you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You like em rough,’ Richie giggles, his eyes closed and crinkling at the edges with his smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I like how fucking masculine you are.’ Richie shivers as I pull his bottom lip down with my thumb. ‘How big your hands are, but how fucking soft you always touch me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah-‘ Richie says, breathy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I love it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie hums and kisses my fingers. Eddie’s been silently cleaning up the room around us and reaches for Richie’s stomach with a wet wipe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Not there.’ Richie tenses, slurring like he’s drunk. ‘Tell him, Eds. I’m proof that something sexy happened.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I glance at Eddie, who's laughing silently. He leans down, licking Richie’s neck as he talks. ‘You’re always proof of that. It’s this or the shower.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No.’ Richie pouts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sooner you let me, sooner I can join you, and you can pretend you’re in the middle of a porno or whatever.’ Eddie wipes him down anyway, while Richie swats half heartedly at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That was better than porn. All our sex is better than porn. Fuck porn.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie pushes Richie onto his side towards me, so I can kiss the last word out of his mouth and we wrap around him. Richie makes a constant purring rumble between us, as I kiss him, while Eddie strokes his stomach. We stay like that until Richie floats back to us, kissing me back and tangling our legs together in a mess. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hot,’ Richie gasps. ‘That was so fucking hot. You two are lucky I survived.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You aren’t creeped out?’ I blurt. Eddie pinches me in annoyance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eds, this is the opposite of creepy, and boy do we know creepy.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He’s talking about the two of us.’ Eddie replies. ‘Touching each other.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pinch Eddie back, ready to wrestle him out of nervous frustration, when Richie rubs the small of my back, trying to dissipate the tension in my body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s hot. Why-? Oh my god, you think I wouldn’t touch my own dick if I could time travel?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie laughs, while I blush and try to relax my jaw, which feels like a brick against Richie’s palm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We only use hands,’ I say, quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I would have had my dick in my own mouth so quick,’ Richie laughs against my mouth, where he’s trying to kiss me and talk at the same time. ‘First time I’d gone to see myself, before I’d said hello. Dick. In. My. Mouth.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie kisses my scrunched up nose, while I sigh. ‘That’s because you’re gross.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What about kissing? Did you teach yourself how to kiss?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes,’ Eddie answers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Wow. See. Hot. When? Holy fuck.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t-‘ I put my hand over Eddie’s mouth before he can answer. ‘Why didn’t you warn me not to say anything,’ I hiss at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can’t warn you unless it’s already happened, and by then it’s too late,’ Eddie sighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie rolls away from me, keeping my arm around him. ‘What’s got his asshole in a bunch?’ He asks Eddie, as I press my face into his back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Embarrassed that you know about our masturbation history.’ Eddie rubs his hand along the length of my arm. ‘But he doesn’t need to be. You think it’s sexy.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck yeah I do. Right now, I fucking love time travel.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ll remind you of that,’ I say, muffled against Richie’s skin. ‘Next time I’m gone for a week.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Shh, you know you’re not allowed to do that anymore.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I bite the ridge of Richie’s spine in reply and he threads our fingers together. I listen as Richie and Eddie kiss, letting the strange blend of jealousy and delight wash over me, that it’s not me kissing Richie right now, but it will be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What future secrets do you hold,’ Richie asks Eddie, tapping his forehead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m not spoiling.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tell me something. How long are you staying?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Until breakfast.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie gasps. ‘Oh, I get you all night?’ He rolls onto his back, elbowing me in the temple. ‘Sorry babe. I wanna sleep like this, like a fucking king.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie and I mirror each other, each tucked under one of Richie’s arms. I don’t feel nervous anymore but the remnants of the prickle remain. Eddie boops my nose to get my attention. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Stop worrying,’ he whispers. ‘Richie’s cool.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m not worried.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie flicks me an unimpressed eyebrow. ‘Honestly, you can relax. About everything.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie looks up at Richie and the unabashed adoration on his face shocks me, even though it shouldn’t, I know exactly how that look feels sitting on my face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie strokes Richie’s jaw, messing the stubble there just like I was doing earlier. ‘Eh Richie? We’re good, right?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘So good.’ Richie’s eyelashes flutter against his cheek. ‘Best sex birthday yet.’ </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Warnings: arguments, selfcest (kissing and hand touching)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>I pull a black t-shirt out from the bottom of the box. It has the words ‘It’s a Richie thing’ printed in large gold lettering across the middle, then underneath, in smaller font ‘You wouldn’t understand.’</p><p>‘What is this?’ I ask, holding it up. </p><p>‘Ho! My parents made that for my twenty-first.’ Richie covers his mouth, laughing. ‘My whole family wore them to the party, it was pretty stupid.’</p><p>I let Richie ramble on about the party while my stomach clenches in jealousy at the thoughtfulness of his family. </p><p>‘Can I have it?’</p><p>Richie screeches to a halt. ‘Yeah. Might be big on you.’ He holds it out in front of my chest. ‘I could ask my Mom if she has a smaller one. She made way too many.’ He smiles, all teeth and I wait for the inevitable question. ‘Speaking of my Mom, well, both of them-‘</p><p>‘They’re asking about Christmas already?’</p><p>‘Yeah. Sorry, I know you don’t wanna see them.’</p><p>‘No.’ I start putting shirts back in the box so I have an excuse to turn away. ‘I can’t drive all the way to Chicago. It’s almost a week there and back in the car.’ </p><p>‘I’m not asking you to go to Chicago. They’ll come here.’</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>'E' rating is for Chapter 4 onwards, so this chapter is rated 'E'</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Monday 7th February 2022 (Richie is 45, Eddie is 45)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I’m routing through the back of the wardrobe when Richie comes home from work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why is there a pile of old t-shirts in the living room?’ He asks, peering around the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Huh?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I poke my head out of the box I’m looking through to find Nova with one of the t-shirts I’ve thrown behind me in her mouth. She sits down between us, pleased with herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie scratches behind her ears. ‘Was that you? Little menace.’ She pants, dropping the shirt on top of his feet as he leans forward to pinch my hip. ‘Whatcha doing?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I go back to the cardboard box I have open. ‘Looking for something.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Did you listen to the show? Played you some songs after you text me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We had it on, but I wasn’t really listening.’ I smile, mostly a grimace. ‘Sorry.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie shrugs leaning his hip against the doorframe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Nova was laid out in front of the speaker when I got back,’ I continue. ‘You didn’t leave the radio on when you left.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘My number one listener. She’s the only rating I care about.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah right. The fuss you made about cracking top five.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Number four Californian drive time show, baby. The guy before me never made the top ten!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How long was he on the air?’ I ask in the blandest way possible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ten years. I’m a revelation Eds.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pull a black t-shirt out from the bottom of the box. It has the words </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘It’s a Richie thing’</span>
  </em>
  <span> printed in large gold lettering across the middle, then underneath, in smaller font </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘You wouldn’t understand.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What is this?’ I ask, holding it up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ho! My parents made that for my twenty-first.’ Richie covers his mouth, laughing. ‘My whole family wore them to the party, it was pretty stupid.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I let Richie ramble on about the party while my stomach clenches in jealousy at the thoughtfulness of his family. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can I have it?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie screeches to a halt. ‘Yeah. Might be big on you.’ He holds it out in front of my chest. ‘I could ask my Mom if she has a smaller one. She made way too many.’ He smiles, all teeth and I wait for the inevitable question. ‘Speaking of my Mom, well, both of them-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘They’re asking about Christmas already?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah. Sorry, I know you don’t wanna see them.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No.’ I start putting shirts back in the box so I have an excuse to turn away. ‘I can’t drive all the way to Chicago. It’s almost a week there and back in the car.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m not asking you to go to Chicago. They’ll come here.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shuffle my feet before I can stop myself. ‘They’d fly?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah. I’ll sort them first class or whatever.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ve been saying no to this for years. To start with for the obvious reason, I couldn’t risk Richie’s parents coming here and watching me disappear. But they know I time travel, just like everyone else important in our life and I don’t have a good reason anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie leans forward, touching my shoulder. ‘You don’t have to decide now. They’re desperate to see you though, photos don’t do you justice.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He winks and I stare back stupidly, drunk on how nice he’s being, as I continue to drag my heels through years worth of mud like an asshole. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I want to see them too.’ Richie raises his eyebrow. ‘I do.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Afraid my Dad’s gonna give you the talk?’ He cackles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Bit fucking late for that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie nods behind me to the box before we end up down a sex talk black hole we both regret. ‘What are you looking for?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sigh, embarrassed. ‘Those shorts with the little ice pops on them. I want them.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s mouth drops open in an ‘oh’ of surprise. ‘That took guts. Asking for something I gave you.’ He pinches my arm. ‘That sixteen year old me dressed you in.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes, alright. Where are they?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Probably at my parents. There’s a box of the clothes I used to give you in their attic I think.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Huh.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie grins. ‘They can bring it with them at Christmas.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t want any of the other shit.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Liar. You liked those boots as well.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I smile but don’t confirm it. The shorts are enough of a concession.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Have I given you the navy jumper yet?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I used to wear it after you visited, while it still smelled like you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I roll my eyes affectionately. ‘Your parents can bring that down too.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Nah, I lost it.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’ll just have to sniff the shorts then.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can smell the real thing whenever I want.’ Richie hooks his finger into the waistband of my shorts, pulling me towards him and beelining my neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t lick me,’ I say, appreciating his shoulders with my hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie withdraws the tip of his tongue, kissing underneath my jaw and swaying us together. I use the momentum to push him backwards towards the bed and climb into his lap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why does visiting me always make you so randy?’ He asks, gripping my thighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s not where I’ve been, the shorts were ages ago. I’ve been somewhere else.’ I raise my eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh?’ Richie raises his right back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘November, last year.’ I pop the buttons of his shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His fingers sneak under the hem of my shorts. ‘Oh, really? You have a good time?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You know I did.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Your dirty talk was something else that night.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I flick Richie in the middle of his forehead. ‘It wasn’t dirty talk.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck off it wasn’t. It was filth.’ He pulls back his bottom lip with his teeth. ‘We should do it again.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘The threesome?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You. Talking me off.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘In a threesome.’ I wiggle down over Richie’s hips deliberately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s gonna happen again, then?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shrug, not knowing for sure but feeling certain we’ll have another opportunity at some point. ‘Can it happen again?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie squeezes my leg. ‘Yeah.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I turn my face away, gazing out the window. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t bring up the threesome and go all coy.’ Richie kisses my jaw, trying to get me to turn back to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t know what came over me. I’d heard myself say all those things, so it felt like I had permission.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You always have permission to talk to me like that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lean Richie back and bracket his head against the mattress with my arms. His hands slide all the way up my shorts, pulling them taut against my dick. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You are fucking insatiable,’ Richie mouths into my neck. ‘You were just fucking me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That happened yesterday and it wasn’t me that fucked you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck me now.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, you’re fucking me,’ I whine. ‘It’s been ages.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Less than a week.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pout and pin Richie’s hands to the bed. ‘Please.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Maybe I can’t get it up.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I press down to check and it doesn’t feel especially promising. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie laughs, leaning up to kiss me. It’s slow, his tongue deep in my mouth. I hold his face where I want him, so his hands can go back under my shorts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I slowly lose my clothes while we make out, enjoying the feel of Richie fully clothed beneath me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thumbs slowly over my hole, back and forth in a maddening rhythm, giving me pressure without any lube and driving me crazy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sit back, undoing Richie’s jeans, pleased to find he’s halfway ready. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are we doing this?’ I ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes,’ Richie laughs. ‘Don’t rush me, I wanna kiss you like that for another hour, come back down here.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You starting touching my asshole.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pull out lube and a rubber while Richie strips next to me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m sucking you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulls me onto my back and my pricks in his mouth before I know what happened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You are so weird.’ I smooth Richie’s fringe to the side so I can see him. ‘Sucking me- ah- to turn yourself on.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t answer for a long minute, playing with the head of my prick with his tongue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Doesn’t turn you on when you touch me?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I rub my feet along his back and he takes the hint dipping his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Turns me on more when you touch me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie pulls off, stroking me slowly as he crawls up my body. I stroke him back, where he’s hard and starting to leak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m just a giver babe. Hold still.’ He presses our cock tips together in a messy kiss. ‘Mwah.’ He smiles as he does the same to my lips. ‘Love you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I touch my thumb to his chin, gentle like my voice. ‘I love you too, Rich.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you love me enough to get on your knees?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I think about it. Richie rarely makes position requests when he’s fucking me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I wanna get deep,’ he continues, sucking along my jawline. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Get off me then.’ I hand him the rubber, rolling onto my knees. ‘I don’t need prep.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, I couldn’t get my thumb in you earlier, you definitely need prep.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You weren’t even trying.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie thumbs me again. ‘Nothing will kill my boner quicker than hurting you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I roll my eyes, but internally I’m grateful that Richie stands his ground on this, even though I wouldn’t mind. It’s reassuring to know he won’t cave to me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I gasp, despite myself as he slides a lubed finger all the way inside me in a firm slow push. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘More.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Christ, let me get this one inside you first.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re always making me wait,’ I huff, grinding back so his finger rubs me where I want it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Quality over quantity. That’s what you’re getting.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Stop being good at it and I wouldn’t want it all the time.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can’t help what nature gave me, Eds.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I wish you would give it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Shh, let me enjoy this.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Enjoy what? You’re barely touching me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘The view.’ Richie giggles. ‘I could stay here, fuck you with my fingers, you don’t even need my cock.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t-’ I dip my head, biting my lip as Richie stretches me with three fingertips. ‘Close your eyes if you’re enjoying this too much.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I fucking will not.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m ready. I’m so ready.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m using this?’ Richie slaps my nose with the rubber packet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t want the mess. Sorry, it’s just a nightmare to get out sometimes-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You don’t have to justify it. I don’t mind.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shuffle my hips and brace, ready for Richie to dig his hands into my hips and line himself up. He drapes himself over me instead, kissing my cheek and I nearly scream. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hi.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Richie.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ready for launch?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Really?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie laughs into my shoulder, jostling me all over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You look ready to murder me,’ he cackles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I would if I didn’t need you alive for this. Get in me. Right. Now.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rubs his nose against my ear. ‘Say it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sigh, knowing the quickest way to get what I want is to indulge him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eds-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Engine engaged.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘T- minus, three-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Richie!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Two.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t laugh when you’re in me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie takes a steading breath and presses inside, as the tension from waiting rolls off me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s slow to bottom out, complimenting how I feel the entire time. I let it wash over me, moaning whenever I feel like it, until he’s draped over me again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘This is better than kissing.’ I rock back onto him, where he’s stilled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Different. Not better.’ Richie rubs his stubbled cheek against mine as I huff in disagreement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You don’t get to orgasm at the end of kissing.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Makes me feel good though. Close to you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You could not be any closer to me than you are now.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘True.’ Richie rolls his hips gently, keeping his face by mine. ‘How long do you think we can stay like this?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Not too long. I want dinner- Ow.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sorry,’ Richie gasps, trying not to laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You were so worried about hurting me five minutes ago.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sorry.’ He smacks a kiss off my shoulder and picks up the pace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hmm, there.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah?’ He holds my chest, pinning me in place to touch me where I want it. ‘Talk dirty to me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I-’ My face feels hot as I can’t think of a single thing to say. Richie slows down, so I pull his hair. ‘Keep going.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Come on, tell me something. Tell me about the next threesome.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We haven’t done it yet.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘But what do you wanna do?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s easy. I’ve had years to think about that. ‘You’ll fuck us both.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘At the same time?’ Richie whispers, voice hot against my ear. ‘I only have one dick.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I turn my head and suck his bottom lip. ‘One after the other.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You think I’m up to it?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You should start practicing.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I grab his arm as he leans back, thinking he’s going to pull out, but he slides our fingers together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Need some leverage.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I drop my elbows, dipping my back, which Richie strokes in the same tempo as his prick. He drags it all the way out to the tip, then slow, slow, slow back in, making my feet tingle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re something else, Eds. Keep talking to me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can’t. Just fuck me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie pulls my hands into the small of my back and it sharpens the angle and the roll of pleasure. I swear, pressing my face into the pillow, as Richie holds my hips still to pound me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m close when he stops.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why are you stopping?’ I slap his hip, as he pulls me back onto my hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tilts my chin back. ‘Kiss me a minute.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I let him, my frustration dissipating with every soft slide of his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why did you stop?’ I ask again, when he pulls back, eyes blown dark. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m practicing.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I wasn’t being literal.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Should I pull out for authenticity?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Restart the countdown?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re so fucking weird.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re the one with the weird horny thing about visiting me as a teenager.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s not what’s happening.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tell me then.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie kisses across my neck while I fume at being put on the spot with his dick inside me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s not seeing you as a teenager-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No. It’s- seeing what you grow into. How- gorgeous you are now. It’s the contrast.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s hot.’ Richie snaps his hips, licking behind my ear. ‘You should have told me earlier, when I could see your face properly.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We could have done this face to face. You’re the one who wanted this.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can touch you all over like this.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, but I like spreading my legs.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie stops and I mentally check how that could have upset him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Say it again.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eddie.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I like spreading my legs. For you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He bites my shoulder and it’s the only warning I get before I’m bracing myself against the wall. He fucks me hard and fast and perfect. I want to dip my body again, press against the sheets but Richie holds me, impossibly close against him all over and I gladly take everything he’ll give me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We stay cradled together, breathing labored and unable to speak until Richie slips out with a groan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you okay? I don’t know what happened. You just- and I just. Please tell me I didn’t hurt you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stroke his cheek with a wobbly hand. ‘I found your lizard brain.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You found it okay, I might never come back.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sit back, pushing Richie with me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You okay though?’ He presses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It was perfect. Thank you.’ I slap his cheek gently, his head hooked over my shoulder to watch our fingers entwine across my stomach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m too old for this,’ he groans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m getting old too,’ I laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Like a fine fucking wine.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s hands follow me, stroking around my hips for as long as they can as I roll off the bed, stumbling on unsteady legs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What do you want for dinner?’ Richie asks, following me to the bathroom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lean back against the sink as he steps into my personal space. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Let's go out?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay,’ Richie agrees, pleased. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘The Italian place with the outdoor seating. We’ll take the dog.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tell your Mom to mail us the shorts.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughs and drops a kiss onto my mouth. ‘Just blew your brains out and still thinking about the shorts. Wait till Christmas.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What if I wanna run the race in them?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘For real?’ I try to keep a straight face but he sees through it. ‘ You bullshitter. You’ll get um for Christmas and like it.’ </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Sunday 20th March 2022 (Richie is 46, Eddie is 45)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> It’s marathon day for Eddie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m at the finish line waiting for him and the rest of the Chrono-Impairment team. Bill, Bev and Ben have set up the post race picnic out of the late morning sun, on the grass next to the beach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I dropped Eddie and Mike at the start line five hours ago, where they joined the older teenagers and parents who were also running. They’re all dressed in team shirts that Eddie designed and made. I’ve got one too, and the prototype cap that Eddie trialed and I got to keep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re fundraising to help support the initiatives Eddie’s been running for the past year. He wants to expand and raise awareness outside of our circle. He started by coming on my radio show at the start of the month. His idea, which surprised me as he hates drawing attention to this part of himself. It showed me just how seriously he’s taking it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was shaking next to me in the booth when we went on air, but bravery won out and he hit his stride like he always does. The response was supportive and compassionate. I talk about Eddie a lot on air, but never about this. It was like another layer of weight had been lifted from us both by talking on such a public platform. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s heard from people all over the world with Chrono-Impairment since, most of them thanking him for talking about what happens and how people can help. He did a small thing, that’s had a huge footprint.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I spot Eddie five hundred metres from the finish line, using decades of practice to pick him out of the crowd streaming towards me. He’s holding hands with Jacob, one of the teenagers who started coming to meetings late last year. His family aren’t supportive over his diagnosis and he’s become very close with Eddie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They cross the finish line, Mike right behind them and stagger towards me. Eddie slouches, gesturing for the water in my bag. I hand them all bottles after a round of fist bumps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are we the first?’ He asks, beaming at me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You bet.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie jostles Jacob, smiling. ‘I told you.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We don’t call him speedy Kaspbrak for nothing.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie eye rolls. ‘I wouldn’t have made it without Jake. Honest truth.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I saw him on the monitors carrying you through mile eighteen Eds, you lazy dog.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, I’m the lazy one.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie throws the dregs of his water bottle over his face and neck and I forget to respond. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We wait there for the rest of the team. Eddie’s a hard, damp line against me the whole time as he claps and cheers his friends on. I press back into him every time he sways away and he finally takes the hint, moving my hand from around his waist into the pocket of his shorts, so I can feel up his legs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lean down, so my mouth is close to his ear. ‘I’m so proud of you.’  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I run everyday,’ he scoffs, missing my wider meaning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Proud of you for this, all of this.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods, tilting back against my arm so we can look at each other. ‘I couldn't do this without you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I blink as he kisses me. A flash of lips against mine and just as quickly he’s away, high fiving a group of the others after they cross the line, grinning like his face is broken.</span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Friday 1st July 2022 (Richie is 46, Eddie is 45)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> The sun’s starting to set when I pull up at the beach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie darts out from the side of a building, his feet slapping hard against the concrete as he runs towards the car, towel grasped tightly around his hips to protect his modesty. He bypasses the passenger door for the trunk for some proper clothes, while I try to get my laughter under control.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You okay?’ I ask, looking back through the length of the car. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He flicks me his middle finger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We’re late for the Losers call. You wanna do it here?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ugh, Rich, I’m starving,’ he replies, climbing into the passenger seat.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hold up my finger and rustle beside me for the banana I’ve stashed in the door. I hold it up, turning his pursed mouth into a huge yellow grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Got ya covered.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes it, trying not to smile, as I join the group call from my phone. Eddie spots his phone on the dashboard and joins too, creating a horrible feedback loop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slaps my hand. ‘Hang up. My phone has better reception.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No it doesn’t. Your phone’s a piece of shit.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yours is covered in smears, looks like your fucking glasses.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Mute yours.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You mute yours.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m muting you both,’ Stan shouts. ‘Always so disruptive.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Stan's pissed at you,’ I say, as Eddie gasps, spraying flecks of banana at me in indignation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pokes my chest. ‘I’m dunking you in the sea.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I grab his finger, pulling it back towards me. ‘I wish you would.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Stop flirting!’ Bev shouts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sorry Mom,’ I say, the sound reverberating back and forth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Turn. Yours. Off.’  Eddie confiscates my phone, hiding it in one of his pockets, that I’ll make a big show of fishing it out of later. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We’re not the only late ones. Bill joins the call before anyone else can speak, yelling over some background noise that only he can hear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can you hear me? I’m on set.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Kuurch, we can hear you, over. Kurch,’ I giggle, leaning my head on Eddie’s shoulder so I’m back in camera range. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Great. What did I miss?’ Bill continues to yell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why are you shouting?’ Stan sighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eddie and Richie got here late too,’ Ben says. ‘Where are you guys?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We’re at the beach, I just got back,’ Eddie explains.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I check for the square with Mike. He’s sat on our couch, trying to stop Nova from toppling over the laptop, where she can hear Eddie’s voice emanating. He’s at our house where we were meant to join the call together before we go out for dinner to celebrate his birthday on Sunday, until Eddie put a spanner in the works.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie tells the group about the evening in 1993 he’s just come back from, that we’d spent together in the basement, watching movies and eating popcorn. I don’t remember doing it, but I’d talked through both movies, grilling him on the future. Eddie makes a big deal out of how annoying it was, but I know he’s pleased about how he spent the last couple of hours. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You must be ready to punch Richie every time you turn up back there,’ Bev says, unable to contain her laughter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Nah, I like seeing him.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you sure? You used to wind each other up something chronic. You still do.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s nice.’ Eddie loops his free hand around my neck, rubbing the shell of my ear with his thumb. I’m very aware I’m on camera, but I can’t help melting into him. ‘Of course it’s fucking annoying sometimes, but I’m lucky to be there.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Talking about lucky,’ I interrupt, wanting to distract everyone away from Eddie so I can kiss him. ‘Everyone pay attention to Mike, it’s his birthday!’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sunday,’ he replies. ‘Are you guys coming back?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie pushes my face away gently. ‘Can you drive while I talk? I’m still hungry.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sigh, annoyed that I won’t really be able to drive and talk, but not wanting to keep Mike hanging.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie shouts about road safety every time I try to talk whenever we’re not stopped at lights, which derails any normal conversation from happening. It’s chaos and I love it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We pick up burgers on the way home. Eddie’s quiet while we eat, perched on his own in the armchair, building up to something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike’s telling us about his hiking plans on Sunday, with a group of the librarians from work. They walk to a picturesque spot and read together once a month, which sounds cute but boring as fuck. Mike seems into it though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike’s in the middle of a story about some of the reader reviews of Bill’s new book they’ve had at the library, when Eddie interrupts, loudly gathering up our wrappers. I’m not done eating and I have to wrestle it back off him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hurry up, I need to tell you something.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Spill. I can listen and eat.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I didn’t go to see you today. I went somewhere else.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I look to Mike, whose just as confused as I am. This is the first time I’m aware of Eddie lying about where he’s been. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Where’d you go?’ I ask slowly, dreading the reason Eddie’s being coy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘LA, 1983.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Whose in LA in 1983?’ Mike asks, leaning forwards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No-one. Well, lots of people, but no-one important.’ Eddie smiles looking between us, excited. ‘A band. I went to see a band.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Cool?’ I reply. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘A band in LA. 1983. Rich.’ Eddie points behind him to the wall of DVDs, as I hurdle through the mental gymnastics of what he’s trying to tell me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You saw Kylie again?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No.’ Eddie tuts. ‘Her first single wasn’t released until 1987.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sorry!’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s a band we all like.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike grabs Eddie’s arm. ‘You saw the Talking Heads?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I curl into a ball, unable to process anything other than jealousy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie laughs, patting my head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Were they filming?’ Mike asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah. I might be on the recording.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s fucking crazy. We need to check.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you okay?’ Eddie asks, shaking my shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can’t move. Too jealous.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why didn’t you tell the others about this?' Mike asks. 'It’s cooler than seeing Richie.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey-’ I sit up, ready to defend myself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Cause I got you both something.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie marches into the garden, not waiting for us to follow him. We find him brandishing a spade he’s pulled out of the gardening supplies shed, counting out twelve footsteps from the edge of the grass. He braces, pushing the spade into the ground at the base of one of the trees. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Did you bury something?!’ I ask.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yup,’ Eddie replies, not turning around. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He flings dirt in an arch behind him that Nova leaps through before I can pull her back. She jumps at me, riding Eddie’s wave of excitement and pressing her dirt covered paws into my belly. I grab a piece of rope from the ground and we wrestle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike finds another shovel in the shed and joins Eddie in unearthing whatever treasure he buried in the ‘80’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They pull out a collapsing cardboard box containing reams of plastic wrap. Inside the wrap are three t-shirts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I gasp and lunge as Eddie throws me mine. It’s white with an elongated yellow face and the words </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Psycho Killer’</span>
  </em>
  <span> printed underneath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I hope I got the right size,’ Eddie says to Mike as they both slip their shirts on over their clothes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fits great. Thanks man.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Happy birthday.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie smiles between us. Sneaky bastard must have broken into the house decades before we lived here to bury the box. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Was it amazing? The gig?’ Mike asks, pulling us both out of our heads. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah. It was pretty awesome. It was weird though.’ Eddie sits down next to his pit in the earth, contemplating how to articulate something Mike and I will never experience. ‘Knowing that they break up and stopped touring a few years later, and all the people around me were old by now. Most of them would be retired. Or dead. It’s cool, but it’s not the same as doing stuff with you guys. It’s lonely.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I get that,’ I say.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike plonks down next to Eddie. ‘Me too.’</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Thursday 4th August 2022 (Richie is 46, Eddie is 45 &amp; 48)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> Nova’s the only one home when I appear on my hands and knees in the spare room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She runs through the house barking, finding me while I’m getting the nausea under control. She seems wound up, so we frisbee at the bottom of the garden until she’s panting and tired and my stomach is settled enough to think about food.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m eating leftover pasta on the couch when Eddie and Bill walk in. They don’t notice me at first, so I wave, catching Bill’s peripheral vision. He double takes, stumbling over a stool, dropping the pile of notebooks and folders he was holding. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s you, Eddie, it’s you,’ he says, eyes hysterically wild, like he’s stumbled across Frankenstein's monster. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I smile and put on a deep, creepy voice. ‘Hello Billy.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill careens, grasping for Eddie to hide behind. ‘Fuck. What do we do? Eds?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Nothing, you joke. It’s just me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fucking s-s-shit.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie laughs as I walk into the kitchen, palms held out. ‘Dogs not freaked out, see.’ She licks my hand, tail wagging. ‘Hey, I’m sorry.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I tap his elbow, trying to pull him about of his speechless funk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘2025.’ I say, trying to guess his question. ‘Everything's good.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie picks the books up from the floor, unimpressed. ‘Are you done being freaked out?’ He asks Bill. ‘Do you still wanna use the office?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, sure, yeah,’ Bill answers, not looking at all convinced that he’s safe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why are you using the office?’ I ask, memory blank on how this part of the conversation goes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Need a change of scenery. I’m stuck.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘With a book?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes. It’s about a new musical chord, a killer musical chord.’ Bill points at me, eyes glossing over in thought. ‘If you play the chord for longer than five seconds, the listener dies.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie and I exchange a look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Never heard of it.’ I say. ‘I don’t think it gets published.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No. No no, you can’t just ruin my book like that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I didn’t ruin it, the concept ruined it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You haven’t even read it!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Exactly.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie leans against the fridge watching us volley, enjoying himself immensely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Have you started helping Richie with his script?’ I ask. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No,’ Bill says, exasperated. ‘What do you mean Richie’s script?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He’s written a movie script. It’s good. Well, it’s going to be good. Where is he?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Therapy,’ Eddie replies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re gonna help him make it.’ I tell Bill. ‘Make sure it shoots in LA so Richie can stay here.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He’s in it?’ Eddie asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck you.’ Bill leans over the kitchen counter, hiding his face in his hands. ‘I’m not making a movie with Richie.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I mean, you are. You have.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can you shut him up?’ Bill asks Eddie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I catch Eddie’s eye and remember exactly how he feels at this moment. Shocked at learning the movie actually gets made, but a little bit excited about what this means for Richie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie walks in, with a burst of noise while Bill’s grilling me on the timeline for the shoot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Heey, wooah, hey.’ Richie looks between the three of us, grinning. ‘Party time for Billiam. Yowza.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You live like this?’ Bill sighs, relieved that he’s no longer going to be the focus of our attention. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Only when I’m very lucky.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie shoves me off my stool, herding us towards Eddie and the fridge, in a congo line of flailing limbs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, no no no, I don’t wanna be part of your weird sex thing,’ Bill gripes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s a hug, a short person hug,’ Richie cackles. ‘You're all just so cute.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Just because your birth certificate lists your wingspan it doesn’t make you better than us,’ Eddie replies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I reach around, pinching Richie’s bum and he lets go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah fuck you, fuck you and fuck you.’ Bill pokes each of us. ‘Rich, I need to talk to you about a script apparently,’ he says, disappearing down the hall and through the office door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie rounds on Eddie. ‘You told him? Eds, for fucks sake.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I didn’t.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie pokes my shoulder. ‘You told him? I asked you not to say anything.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You need a firework up your asshole or it’s never gonna happen.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes a deep breath, in and out, while staring me down. ‘It gets made?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah. You’re in it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ha! I am not.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay then.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘This is-’ Richie makes a mess of his hair with his hands. ‘Fuck.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m helping you.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie looks between us, while Eddie shrugs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What happens now?’ Richie asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You edit the script with Bill, then you sell it to the studio he usually works with. It comes out in early 2025.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’ve seen it?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod. ‘It’s good. Proud of you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie leans in, his face relaxing as I kiss him. I rub my thumb across his cheekbone as he pulls away smiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m gonna-’ Richie walks backwards, in the same direction as Bill, pausing to kiss Eddie on the cheek as he goes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do not ever tell me why that took you so long,’ Bill says, as Richie closes the office door, blocking out the sound of his own laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How does this film thing actually play out?’ Eddie asks, tapping his fingers nervously on the door of the fridge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s okay. They mostly film in LA, but there’s a couple of weeks on location. Rich gets pretty stressed balancing it with the radio show for a while, so keep an eye on that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Did you mean it, the movie’s good?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I bite my lip. ‘It’s not bad.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We both laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What about us?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We’re good. Do you want some stock updates?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, I don’t have anything past this year.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie flicks on the kettle, flashing me the tea box. I nod and he pulls two mugs out of the cupboard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie starts laughing hysterically, the deepest tone of his voice travelling through the closed door. The kettle noise slowly builds, drowning out his conversation with Bill. Eddie’s staring intently at me when my attention comes away from them and back to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What’s happening with the support group?’ He asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Good things.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He exhales. ‘We’re involved long term then?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah.’ I smile. ‘We’re making a difference.’</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Friday 23rd December 2022 (Richie is 46, Eddie is 46)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> The house is suspiciously quiet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie refused to come with me to the airport, paranoid that my parents' flight would be delayed and we’d get stuck in the crowded arrival lounge. I thought he’d at least be in the kitchen to greet us when we got back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My parents make all the usual comments about the house, but I can tell they’re disappointed about Eddie’s absence, Mom especially. She spent the entire drive home talking about how excited she was to see him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We drop their bags in the spare room and follow my hunch down to the bottom of the garden. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie stands when he sees us, waving awkwardly. I intercept Nova, who bounces over to meet the new people, distracting her with a frisbee so I can grab her collar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There's a weird shuffle as my parents take turns to hug Eddie within an inch of his life. Mom tells him he looks just the same and Dad makes a terrible joke about Eddie wearing the same shorts for thirty years. I make a mental note to repeat it to him later, when he’s not so on edge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘There’s someone very important you’re forgetting,’ I tell them, sternly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mom tuts. ‘We’ve already seen you!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, my dog. Nova.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dad holds out his hand for her to sniff, her tail and bum swinging side to side in excitement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘This is Pops,’ I say, laughing at Dad’s frown. ‘And this-’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘-Is Maggie,’ Mom interrupts, waving her fingers in a little claw. ‘I don’t want her to call me Mom or whatever it was you were about to say.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Did you get that, Nova?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘She can’t actually speak Mom.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes, I know how dogs work.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I catch Eddie’s eye and we both laugh.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You hungry?’ I ask. ‘Everyone hungry?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh, you’re not cooking?’ Mom scolds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I cook. Hey- I don’t wanna see the eyebrow.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mom shoves my arm as we walk back towards the house. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eds, defend me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You can make good eggs,’ he laughs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh my god. I’m the cook in this house.’ I point to Mom, interrupting her from listing all the things she presumes I can’t make. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eds, did you run with Mike?’ I ask. ‘Does he wanna come for dinner?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He’s in Portland.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s right.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We call you Eds now? That’s allowed?’ Dad asks smiling, knowing exactly the grenade he’s unclipped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It was always allowed!’ I reply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No it wasn’t, Richie.’ Eddie turns to Dad. ‘I like it now.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dad looks between us, amused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ll cook something,’ Mom says, opening the fridge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, Mom, we’re going out.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie shifts on the spot, standing in the doorway to the garden, like a vampire who needs to be invited inside. ‘We need to get a tree.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes. We need your help Mom.’ I steer her towards the shoes at the front door. ‘We need your keen female eye.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ve never picked a Christmas tree in my life.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’d still be better at it than Richie,’ Eddie replies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hunch lifts from his shoulders at my parents' laughter. Making fun of me, their mutual common ground, locked and loaded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie whispers with Mom in the backseat, showing her something on his phone that they both giggle at. It’s cute, so I don’t mind that it’s probably at my expense. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s something calming about the bonding between the people you love. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dad fiddles with the radio dial while I drive, huffing his way through the channels. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can’t find your show.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s finished. Four till seven.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No. It’s six till nine.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s the Chicago time difference. And I’m right here. How can I be doing the show?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s recorded.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, it’s live. I’m not on air this week.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Maggie, did you know this?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘They wouldn’t let you do a live show, Richie.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘They pay me to do a live show. What the hell?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We would have called in if we’d known,’ Mom replies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We don’t really do that anymore, it’s all messages or tweets. You worked out how to listen to it online?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eddie sent us the password.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘The link,’ Eddie chimes in, looking unbearably pleased with himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s cute, you all scheming with your links. We can arrange for you to call in, that would be hysterical. You could do a five after five mix for me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dad smiles knowingly. ‘Songs that Richie used to annoy me with as a kid? I could do one of those.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I laugh, delighted that he not only knows about the feature, but also the running joke, that whenever one of my friends makes the mix, the theme is songs I’ve annoyed them with. I’ve been trying for months to get Eddie to contribute, but he’s being stubborn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mom and Dad go back and forth with song suggestions long after we’re seated at a table in the middle of the busy restaurant. Eddie keeps putting forward songs that I pretend to note down and threaten to turn into a mix for him, which riles him up into poking my leg repeatedly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Were you listening the day Eddie called me during the show and I put him on speaker?’ I ask my parents. ‘I still get messages about that.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie jabs me again. ‘Would you stop bringing that up?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I grab his finger and link our hands together as the waiter arrives.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are we eating one handed?’ I whisper, the waiter focused on Mom and Dad’s side of the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, let go, your parents are here.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sling my arm around his shoulder instead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mom turns to ask Eddie if he’s having wine and she freezes, eyes darting in tiny increments between us. Eddie swallows, stiffening like a board. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I think about pulling my arm back, until Eddie rolls his shoulder, looking back at her across the table. ‘I don’t drink,’ he replies, tapping my hand dangling by his elbow. ‘Richie will have mine.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We’ll have red,’ Dad says, looking around at everyone for confirmation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod, keeping my arm around Eddie and pretending like hell my heartbeat isn’t triple its normal speed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Last Christmas we saw you was 1991,’ Dad says, nodding at Eddie, while chewing a breadstick. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What about 1993?’ Mom follows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie and I look at each other for a moment before the penny drops. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, Dad’s right,’ I reply. ‘It was ‘91. Eddie moved away in ‘92.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes,’ Mom sighs. ‘But we know all about your secret visits.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Maggie,’ Dad sighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You could have come upstairs Eddie, you didn’t need to hide in the basement.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My stomach drops and I have to resist the urge to vomit. I don’t dare look at Eddie, but I can feel the waves of embarrassment coming off him.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What are you talking about?’ I deflect, talking to Dad. ‘You didn’t tell me she’d gone senile.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m not senile,’ Mom continues. ‘We could hear Eddie when he came to visit you. You boys are not quiet.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck,’ Eddie whispers under his breath, closing his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dad laughs and points what's left of the breadstick between us. ‘We could never work out why you didn’t tell us. Eddie, you were always welcome at our house.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘And I hope you weren't sneaking off to New York to visit Eddie without telling us,’ Mom says, glaring at me. ‘That time you wanted to stay late in Bangor, hmm, is that what you were really doing?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yup, you got me. I was seeing Eds. What are you gonna do, you gonna ground me?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I hope you apologized to Eddie for all the times he must have got the bus. That can’t have been safe.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie takes my hand under the table as Mom rambles about how dangerous it was in the ‘90’s for a sixteen year old to get the bus across state lines, how expensive it would have been and why oh why didn't we let her feed him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie looks moments from disappearing and I’m about to tell Mom to stop, when he speaks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I was time travelling.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone stares, including the tables in ear range of Eddie’s voice. He takes a deep breath and squeezes my hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m so sorry. That's why we didn’t tell you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I would have still made you dinner,’ Mom says softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s voice shakes like his hand held tightly in mine. ‘No, I- I wasn’t sixteen. I was an adult, am an adult. It’s still happening.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You go and visit Richie at our house, in 1993, now?’ Dad asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie nods. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What were you doing in the basement?’ He continues, voice brittle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We watched movies and played video games,’ I say, trying to keep my voice level. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dad’s face stays in a fixed hard line focused on Eddie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Dad, Eddie helped me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘With what?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can we not do this here?’ Eddie asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We’re not doing anything.’ Dad says, now focused on me. ‘What did he help you with?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He-’ I stumble, feeling sick having to justify this. ‘He helped me process being gay. I was so lonely and I was getting beaten up at school. Dad, he’s my best friend, he was just being a good friend to me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Did you tell him about this?’ Dad asks Eddie, gesturing between us. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie waits a long moment before answering. ‘Yes.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dad leans back, rubbing his chin.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eddie told me virtually nothing about the future-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Then why did he tell you this?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Because I was fucking miserable and it made me happy. Dad, you cannot be mad at him.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can’t help where I go,’ Eddie says, his voice breaking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘But why did you go there? Why not see Richie when he’s older?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie looks at me for reassurance before answering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I think, because it’s when he needed me the most.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Our food arrives and we eat in awkward silence, Eddie’s hand still resolutely held in mine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I thought about how this conversation might go, if ever Eddie or I let it slip. I thought the moment might be funny, but this is awful. I had no idea my parents had heard us and known Eddie was there this whole time.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mom gasps and I know what’s happened before I register the emptiness of my hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You did this,’ I tell them, putting down my fork. ‘Both of you. You stressed him out.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dad wags his finger at the spot Eddie was occupying a minute ago. ‘That was something.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, and god knows where he’s gone. It’s fucking dangerous, yeah? I know you’re having a meltdown about Eddie visiting me when I was a teenager, but at least when he goes there he’s safe.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You should have told us what was going on. Eddie’s a forty year old man.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘There is no way I could have told you. Can you be realistic about this?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I think it’s lovely,’ Mom says. ‘I would have wanted your Dad to visit me if he could time travel.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I giggle at the shocked look on Dad’s face, breaking the tension beautifully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Dad, he helped me so much and he was so respectful. You have no idea how much I tried to kiss him and he never, ever, let me. I was safe with him. Eddie’s the best.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a loud bang towards the back of the restaurant. I scoop up Eddie’s clothes and rush to find him. He’s hiding in the men’s bathroom, sheltering in a cubicle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lean against the door to stop anyone from walking in and hand him the clothes around the cubicle door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You okay?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I ruined your parents,’ he sobs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I laugh at his choice of words. ‘You didn’t ruin anything. They’re idiots.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘They think I hurt you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can you come out here?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I scoop him into my arms, stroking his back as he cries into my shirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘They don’t think you hurt me, Dad’s just being protective. Why he couldn’t have acted like this when I came home with bruises all the time, I don’t know. I think I’ve talked them round.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Really?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Mom thinks it’s cute.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hand him a paper towel to clean his face, holding his hips and swaying him from side to side. ‘You never answered me. Are you okay?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I think so.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘In six months this is going to be a really funny story.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You are not talking about this on the show. Ever.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I grin, looking forward to the future argument when I bring it up again, but don’t push my luck right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I open the door, which Eddie shoves shut again with his foot. He stares up at me, crestfallen with hurt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can’t go back out there.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I smooth his hair back into place, where it’s flopped down over his face. ‘You can. I love you and I don’t care what they think.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You do though, they’re your parents.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘They love you too. They were so gutted you weren’t at the airport.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie sighs, eyes welling up again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m not trying to make you feel guilty. Dad’s just- I don’t even know. Having a moment. Come out there with me and prove him wrong.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie slumps back against the door, contemplating his feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Or not.’ I trace his cheek with my finger. ‘I’ll take you home if you want. Whatever you want.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes my hand and leads me back to the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of dinner is strangely formal but pleasant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My parents were arguing when we got back to the table, probably as annoyed with each other as we are with them for upsetting dinner. No-one wants desert so I order something big and we end up sharing it with four spoons, finishing it off from all sides of the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie tries to backtrack about getting a tree when we leave, but I insist we go, knowing how much he likes picking one at night, when the edge of the forest is lit up with lights.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stand against the fence in the parking lot, watching while Eddie and Mom walk amongst the trees. Eddie pulls back the ferns on a particularly tall tree and they both peer closer to check something. I personally don’t get the fuss, we’re going to cover it up with decorations and be done with it in two weeks, we just need something sturdy and green. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dad taps the fence next to me and leans over to watch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re pretty smitten.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wasn’t expecting him to say that and I can’t prevent the resulting flush from colouring my face. I shrug and chew the inside of my cheek, waiting for a joke that never comes. I catch his eye and we both laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m happy for you, Rich.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod and glance back to Eddie, whose waving his arms around while Mom laughs. I’m happy for me too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You like Eddie, right?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eddie’s great, we’ve always liked him.’ Dad turns to face me properly. ‘Did you like him when you were kids?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah,’ I sigh. ‘I’ve always been smitten.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He treats you okay?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah. Dad. Yeah he does.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You know you could have told us?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We’ve been over this at dinner.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That you were gay.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dad’s eyes soften behind his glasses and the guilt for excluding him from this part of my life for so long suddenly feels crippling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I didn’t feel like I could at the time. Not because of you, because of-’ I gesture around me. ‘You know. How things were.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Things are better now?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We were worried about you, for a long time.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m sorry. You don’t need to worry.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dad rubs my shoulder and it runs straight through me. ‘We’re really proud of you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I laugh, embarrassed and pleased at the same time. ‘We’re hugging now, right?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I feel his pulse against my face as he rubs my back, faint but steady, just like his support, which always would have been there for me if I’d been brave enough to ask.  </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Sunday 25th December 2022  (Richie is 46, Eddie is 46)</span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> Richie wakes me with a kiss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rolls on top of me in bed, a gloriously solid weight I can wrap my legs around while we make out. I’m working my hands through his hair when I feel it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie giggles, sucking my neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I hid this.’ I pull the Santa hat off his head and launch it across the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, badly.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nova jumps onto the bed, dropping the hat next to me and rolling onto her side. Richie grabs it before I can and jams it back onto his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Merry Christmas Eds. Now gimmie another kiss, you filthy, filthy animal.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I laugh as he kisses along my cheek, pressing me down into the mattress. I suck his tongue, and try to push his underwear off with my feet, when we’re interrupted by the door opening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh good, you’re awake-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Mom! No-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘-we’re making coffee.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘-don’t just come in here!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I press my face into Richie’s arm so Maggie can’t see me, biting his bicep to stop myself screaming. Nova wiggles around, sticking her nose between the bed and Richie’s arm to lick my chin, oblivious to the three way mortification happening around her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I will come back.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No,’ Richie laughs. ‘Don’t come back in here, we’ll come out. Make us two coffees,’ he shouts as the door clicks shut. ‘No sugar!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I let go of his arm and scream into his chest, while he shakes laughing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t laugh. Oh my god Richie, you’re still wearing the hat.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ha!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I hate you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No you don’t. You’re hot for Santa.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why are you not freaking out? Your Mom just caught us in bed.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie gets up, shrugging. ‘I’m not embarrassed.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We were about to fuck,’ I say from behind my hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘She doesn’t know that!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I cough from the pressure of Nova pressing her paws into my chest, as she attempts to catch the clothes Richie throws at me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Get up, I can smell pancakes.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can’t go out there.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Diva.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Richie, how are you not mortified.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We didn’t do anything wrong.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sit up, pushing Nova’s ears back with my hands while she licks my face where it feels hard and hot like freshly blown glass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know that, but your Mom-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Is an idiot for coming in here. It’s good for her to see us like that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I scoff as Richie pulls me to my feet, swaying me in his arms. He feels up my ass and kisses me, soft and quick. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Love you. Don’t go anywhere today.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I melt in his arms, pressing my cheek against his chest. He sways me again, so I brace for a dip that never comes. His chest starts shaking instead, so I follow his eyeline to the pile of elf green clothes on the bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m not wearing that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lets me go and I get a good look at him, mentally sighing at how stupid he looks, dressed head to toe in red and white. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s already in the kitchen when I finish getting dressed in normal clothes, arm held out for me to slot under at the kitchen island. He’s trying to persuade Maggie to flip the pancakes out of the pan and across the room to him, which she’s refusing to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why is she always sitting next to me?’ Maggie pushes her slippered foot against Nova’s paw to hustle her away, but she gets the wrong idea, placing her paw over them instead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Because you’re cooking and you keep feeding her,’ Richie replies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s so she’ll go away. Shoo, go away.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nova pants in reply and doesn’t move. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Went slides me a mug of coffee and we wish each other Merry Christmas. It’s the first time we’ve properly spoken to each other since dinner and I have no idea what I should say to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The scratch of Richie’s stool across the floor distracts us both from any awkward conversation. He tugs Nova’s collar to get her moving and she follows him back round the other side of the kitchen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can’t believe you hate our dog,’ he continues, scowling at Maggie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m not a dog person.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘She’s the closest you're getting to a Grandchild. Lord knows me and Eds have tried.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maggie tuts, while Went and I roll our eyes, laughing when we catch each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nova paces between us, trying to work out which one of us is more likely to feed her. Went holds out a blueberry that she licks from his fingers and she settles by his feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We eat, while Richie entertains us by trying out different Santa voices, only stopping when he finds one that makes Nova growl at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I taught her a new trick,’ Richie tells us, mopping up the last trickle of syrup with his finger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Really?’ I question. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie nods, whipping a pair of soft reindeer antlers out of nowhere and waving them at Nova. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You wanna be Santa’s helper?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I try to wrestle them off him. ‘Don’t put those on her.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘She likes it. We’re gonna show everyone our new trick, aren’t we?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie tells us to sit in a semi circle in the living room facing the Christmas tree. He puts the Santa hat back on and I risk a look at Maggie, who's gone pink in the face. Richie smiles at me, noticing it too and I make a mental note to burn the hat as soon as it’s off of his head tonight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie taught Nova to drag presents from under the tree and over to the couches on command. It’s really fucking cute, especially with the reindeer antlers swaying from side to side as she shuffles back and forth. There aren’t a lot of presents under the tree, so we take our time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie and I gift a shared present to Maggie and Went. A photo album of myself and Richie, that Maggie specifically asked for, so she could feel more involved in our life. I found it mostly awkward to put together, unsure of what moments she would be interested in seeing. Richie was very touched that she’d asked, so I tried my best to take it seriously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I unwrap a copy of ‘How to Invent Everything: A Survival Guide for the Stranded Time Traveller,’ from Maggie and Went, which everyone seems to give me a copy of. It sends Richie into a silent laughing fit, as I pretend to be surprised and pleased. I appreciate the thought but the book itself is fucking useless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie gives Went socks, five pairs all wrapped individually. Not just the pairs but the socks themselves. Went makes it through the first three socks before starting an argument about wasteful use of wrapping paper. Nova’s been eyeing up the socks and uses the distraction to take one of them into her day bed, no longer interested in the presents trick. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Your Dad’s right, it’s such a waste of paper,’ I tell Richie as he crawls across the floor to take over from the dog. He swaps the sock in her mouth for the new stuffed toy we got her, a big green turtle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rattles a big box before reading the tag. ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>To Richie, love Mom.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It’s just from you?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maggie’s distracted looking through the photo album.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie rattles the box again and peels off the paper. ‘Oh shit.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What?’ I lean forward, trying to look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He holds up a pair of old shorts that I recognize very clearly from the clearing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His voice is muffled while he searches the box, but he doesn’t pull anything else out. He looks over, eyes twinkling. We’ll go through the box together later, when we’re alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You didn’t have to wrap this,’ he tells Maggie, who's still not paying attention. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her voice doesn’t carry well across the room, where she’s talking with Went, but I can feel the fondness in her tone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulls forward another box. ‘To </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘The Dog’</span>
  </em>
  <span>?’ Richie wiggles his eyebrows. ‘She has a name.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We couldn’t remember it,’ Went replies, exactly as distracted now Richie’s stopped handing him socks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie holds out the package for Nova to sniff. She looks at Richie confused, waiting for an instruction. He lifts the corner of the paper for her but she doesn’t take it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Not gonna play?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘She’s sulking because we’re not getting ready for a W- A- L- K,’ I say. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Aww, we’ll go soon baby.’ Richie waves the unwrapped box at Went. ‘A bubble machine?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Dogs like them. We saw one on the video channel.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Video channel?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A giggle erupts from my throat. ‘Youtube?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes!’ Went and Maggie reply in unison. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pull up a video on my phone of an Aussie chasing and biting at bubbles streaming out of the little handheld machine. It’s a very cute present that Nova will love when she’s not grumpy with us. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My present to Richie is the last one under the tree. He unwraps it, face turning soft before he’s got the sweater fully out of the paper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shakes it, holding it up for his parents to look at, before draping it over his shoulders. It’s medium weight and navy, like the one he had as a teenager. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thanks Eds.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re welcome.’ I rub my feet into the carpet, wishing his parents weren’t in the room, so we could kiss each other in the way I know Richie wants to from the subtle curve of his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nova brings me her lead, resting her head on my knees in guilt trip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My phone buzzes with a message from Richie, telling me he loves the sweater. I rub Nova’s head and message him back, offering to wear it for him later. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You better,’ he whispers, kissing my cheek before taking the lead out of Nova’s mouth and kickstarting a rumble of movement as everyone moves to leave the house. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie</b>
  <span>: Eddie’s asleep by the time I make it to bed after a nightcap with my Dad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nova follows me as I move about the bedroom, getting ready for bed as quietly as possible.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s unsettled by the upset to our usual schedule, so I sit on the floor with her for a while next to her dog bed. I sandwich her head between my hands and ruffle up her ears until she falls asleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I cooked with Eddie throughout the afternoon, while Mom gave us instructions from the other side of the kitchen island that we pretended not to need. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We tried to have a normal Christmas day, or as normal as we could with my parents here, opting to swap the usual tradition for a half naked Christmas movie marathon on the couch for Charades. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I paired with Dad and nearly killed myself laughing at Eddie’s face, as he grimaced through round after excruciating round with my Mom. It was more fun when we switched and played in couples and I could sneak my hand under the hem of his shirt to stroke his back during my parents rounds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s still on edge about them being here, although he’s doing a good job at hiding it. I didn’t fight it when he left us for bed as soon as Die Hard finished. If sleep is what he needs to keep him here, then he can have it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lean forward to tuck the sheet over his foot where it’s poking out, his toes curled in to avoid the chill. I hold his foot in my hand, warming it in thanks for the effort he’s made this week.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>I always felt like a faker in my 20’s and 30’s, telling my parents I was gay but never having anyone or anything to show for it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I never thought I’d get to have this. A family like this, all together in one place. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Wednesday 28th December 2022 (Richie is 46, Eddie is 46)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I wake up before the sun has risen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I make coffee and toast, enjoying a small moment of peace before the rest of the house wakes up. It’s the last day Richie’s parents are here and I’m looking forward to things going back to normal. The weeks around Christmas and New Year are always disorienting, but especially so this year. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maggie joins me at the table in the garden as the sky starts turning from black to blue. Nova pads along behind her, oblivious to Maggie’s indifference to dogs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She clinks our coffee mugs together and we smile at each other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you packed?’ I ask. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maggie hums and raises her shoulder. ‘I’m packed, not so sure about Went.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What is with the last minute packing?  Richie does that too, he-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maggie touches my fingers, where they’re wrapped around my mug and I hold out my palm on reflex. She takes my hand, squeezing my wrist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t think Went will apologize, but I’m sorry for what happened the first night. At dinner.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod, throat tight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know- We both know what a good man you are. You’re very good for Richie and we’re grateful for everything you’ve done for him.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He’s done so much for me-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maggie taps my palm. ‘I know, but we’re talking about you right now.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I let out a long breath. ‘Okay.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We’d love to come back again, or have you both in Chicago. I know that’s not easy for you, but you’re always welcome.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thanks Maggie.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I try to think of the right words, to convey how good it’s been to see them both. To do this as part of Richie’s family. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You made coffee without me?’ Went interrupts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘There’s a pot in the kitchen.’ Maggie waves him away, murmuring ‘dolt’ under her breath as she stands to follow him, squeezing my hand before she leaves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nova rests her head on my knee, while I let her acceptance settle over me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I meet them in the kitchen, helping Went with the morning crossword, while Maggie makes breakfast. We’re a pretty good team, getting further than Richie and I normally do, with both the normal and cryptic clues. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie joins us with a smile on his face. He makes an elaborate loop around the kitchen to give everyone a cheek kiss, draping himself over my back once he’s done to look at the newspaper and make a mess of our crossword progress. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> Eddie comes with us to the airport. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We walk my parents to the security line and join the waves of the people hugging their loved ones. It’s just as awkward saying goodbye in the departure hall as it was saying hello in the garden. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie shuffles when my Dad grasps his hand instead of returning the hug Eddie leant into and I have a sinking feeling this is about to go badly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I want to say sorry, for what I said the first night.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie stares back at him, eyes wide. ‘You don’t have to-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I want to. I was wrong. I need to thank you for looking after Richie.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s nothing.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s not nothing.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie takes a moment. No longer grasping Dad’s hand, but gently holding it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thank you for saying that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I glance at Mom, whose tearing up as Eddie and Dad hug. I mouth my thanks to her, feeling her influence all over this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I rest my hand on Eddie’s shoulder when he comes back to my side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thanks Dad.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods and we smile at each other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m not hugging you again or I’ll cry,’ I tell him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We don’t need more of that,’ Mom says, laughing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Your flight just went orange,’ Eddie says, staring at the departure board. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dad claps his hands, picking up his carry on. ‘We’re going. See you soon,’ he points at me and then at Eddie. ‘Both of you.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh, Chicago,’ I sing, waving as they join the end of the security line. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie presses against me, tucking his hand into the back pocket of my jeans, as we watch my Mom rub Dad’s arm and sway together in the jostle of the line. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You got the seal of approval. Big time.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie looks up, eyelashes dark and sticking together. ‘It was good of your Dad to say that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah.’ I rub Eddie’s back. ‘It wasn’t too bad them being here?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It was good.’ Eddie fidgets. ‘We should do it again, Thanksgiving next year or something.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie shrugs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eds, I’d love that.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I mentally chant my thanks for all the things that went right this week and all the things that didn’t, but we managed to put right anyway. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Tuesday 7th March 2023 (Richie is 47, Eddie is 46)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> It’s my birthday and Eddie’s not here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He disappeared sometime in the night, slipping away from me while we slept. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I haven’t told anyone at the station, but I know they can read the disappointment on my face. I’m trying to stay upbeat, not let it spoil the day or the show we had planned. Eddie will be back and he’ll make it up to me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I watch the countdown clock, forty seconds for the current track to finish, cueing me up for the next segment, reading birthday messages listeners have sent in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The air in the room changes in a familiar jolt. There’s a gasp of surprise next to me. I look over, to a familiar pair of deep brown eyes, as Eddie’s face breaks into a wide grin until he realizes where he is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Line up another song!’ I yell, before the feed switches over to my mic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I yank the bottom drawer of my desk open with my foot and throw Eddie a t-shirt. He wiggles it over his head one handed, spinning to flash his ass through the glass to the production team. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You okay?’ I giggle, as Eddie hops into the shorts I hand him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m fine.’ He leans against the desk and nods towards the drawer, eyebrow raised. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thought you might show up here one day.’ I flip a protein bar through my fingers and hand it over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie kisses my cheek, leaving his mouth by my ear. ‘Happy birthday.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I squeeze his hips, barely able to contain my excitement. ‘Thank you.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I had things planned for this morning,’ Eddie sighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I found the cake in the fridge. Pretty cute you baked.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I bought it.’ He bites his lip. ‘I put the cake pan in the dishwasher to throw you off.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You sneaky bitch!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ninety second warning!’ Sally shouts as we dart apart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck.’ I hand him the spare set of headphones. ‘Sit down, you’re coming on air.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What?! No, Rich-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘My parents are calling in soon, this is gonna be great.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie covers his face with his hands. ‘Oh my god.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I slap his knee and watch the song countdown to zero. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That song was called Chime and Orbital made it.’ I wait for a beat, clapping my hands together. ‘So, this isn’t a normal Tuesday. You’ve all been reminding me of that on text and twitter, birthday messages through the yazoo. I was gonna read some of them out, there’s actually some nice ones in there this year, but... Something pretty amazing just happened.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie shakes his head, still covering his face with his hands, trying to get me to stop, but I see his eyes smiling, giving him away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If you listen to this show on the regular, you’ll know my partner Eddie, my best friend, light of my life, that guy, he has Chrono-Impairment and sometimes disappears for a little bit. And he just showed up, in the booth with me! Say hi Eds.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie stares into the mid distance, tongue between his teeth, as I erupt in laughter. Eddie sighs and stares at the ceiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘The microphone can pick up you sighing,’ I laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can I swear?’ Eddie asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fine. Hi everyone in Los Angeles that listens to Richie’s show. It’s up to five people now, right?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I laugh. ‘This is actually a global show Eds, you can stream it online.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie stares. ‘I know that. I’m the one who told your parents, so they could listen in Chicago.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘My parents are our five after five DJs this week, we’ll be speaking to them in about ten minutes actually. Thanks for reminding me.’ I play punch his arm, trying to loosen him up. ‘You should come on the show more often, you can do live prompting-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m only here cause it’s your birthday.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘And this is the best gift you could have gotten me. I’m gonna play another song, then Eddie will read some of your birthday messages and we’ll chat to my Dad.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie pulls off his headphones when Prince starts playing and points with full conviction. ‘I am not reading tweets or whatever.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hand him the tablet with messages loaded to look through. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m getting your Dad on the line,’ Sally tells me. ‘You wanna talk to him before we go back on air?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘As long as the lines clear we’re good.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I touch Eddie’s elbow. ‘You wanna flag? Catch up after the show?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, I’m staying.’ He tilts the tablet towards me. ‘Are you sure about this, your listeners won’t think I’m lame?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re so deadpan, it’s gonna be hilarious. My listeners love hearing about you, how many times.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thirty seconds, what are we doing?’ Sally asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m doing it,’ Eddie replies, swigging my water and rolling his shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thank you Prince, always a pleasure. Talking about pleasure, I’ve got Eddie Kapsbrak here, old Eds Spagedgs, Mr Special K himself to read us- Ow.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie shakes his hand out from slapping me. ‘Richie.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He’s gonna read some of your birthday messages to me. Take it away Eds.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie looks at me, then back at the tablet. ‘Happy birthday Richie,’ he says, in one long dull tone. ‘I can only get three stations to work on my broken car radio and yours sucks the least.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We both laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Best out of three, I’ll take it. You gotta tell us who the message is from.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It says… I can’t see the name?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Next to the ‘at’ symbol.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh, Salty K.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Is that you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That could be your nickname. Okay, next.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie rolls his eyes, trying not to grin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘This is from Jim Bowden, listening from England. Do not do the accent!’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shut my comically open mouth and shake with giggles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s no longer your birthday in England but have a good one I guess. Thanks for curing my insomnia.’ Eddie laughs, the cute little giggle that always makes my toes curl. ‘Can’t argue with that, your voice always puts me to sleep.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Wow, okay. You got time for one more.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘This is from Stan. Oh, it’s from our Stan.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Stan the man? Stanley Uris from Atlanta?  Aww.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Happy Birthday Rich. Remember how we spent this day forty years ago? I do, because I went to the hospital after you kicked me in the head trying to go sideways on the swing set at the park. Listening to your show is only slightly less painful.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I double over laughing imagining the look on Stan’s face as he typed that message.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You sent Stan to hospital?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It was an accident!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How do you even swing sideways?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You can’t! Stan’s misshapen head is the proof.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh my god.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I love that everyone finds my show painful but tunes in anyway.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I try not to.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You liar. Okay, it’s five minutes past five, let's speak to my Dad! Hey Dad.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Am I on? Hello?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey Dad!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Merry birthday son.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Merry birthday?! Did you mean to say Happy Birthday?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You know what I mean,’ Dad groans. ‘What have you been doing?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I ate a whole birthday cake for breakfast.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You didn’t save me any?’ Eddie explodes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Is Eddie there?’ Mom asks, voice tinny in the background. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, he’s in the studio.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hello Eddie,’ my parents say together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sally gestures for me to move things along, before we get completely sidetracked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tell us about the song you picked for your mix, ‘songs Richie annoyed me with when he was a kid’.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Now you’re annoying the whole of LA with your music,’ Eddie interrupts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh, that’s a good one Eddie,’ Mom laughs. ‘Richie, I can’t remember what song we picked.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie dissolves into laughter, bumping his elbow against mine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘This is why we don’t have phone in guests. Honestly. You picked,’ I pause, winding up for the big reveal. ‘Whip It by Devo.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No,’ Eddie says. ‘Please no.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s a stone cold Richie classic,’ I reply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You used to march around the kitchen singing it when I was cooking,’ Mom explains, ‘For what felt like years on end.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s banned from our house,’ Eddie replies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I tried that,’ Mom says. ‘But how do you get him to stop singing?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie sighs dramatically. ‘You can’t.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You can ban all you want, but you can never stop me from singing.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘The most annoying part,’ Dad chimes in. ‘Is when you’d replace the guitar parts with a trumpet impression.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lose it then, collapsing on the desk as Eddie and my parents discuss which is worse, my trumpet or violin impression. I glance up when my eyes stop streaming to Sally’s resigned face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I demonstrate the trumpet, which stops everyone in their tracks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘K, I’m playing the song now. Thanks for joining us Mom and Dad.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Happy Birthday Richie. Bye Eddie,’ they chirp in unison.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I flick the echo button on the console, to cover the laugh still floating around my throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘And now, I give you, Whip It by Devo.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The song starts and we’re off the air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie won’t look at me. He’s grinning to himself, half behind the hand he’s resting his chin on. I touch his elbow and his eyes turn towards me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Enjoying yourself?’ I ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No,’ he smiles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I ask him again if he wants to leave but he stays, reading more sarcastic birthday messages and roasting my choice of music, which is on the indulgent side today. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We change the dinner plans Eddie made to eat at the beach a couple of blocks from the station. The ocean ebbs back and forth behind us, like the gentle slide of Eddie’s foot against mine underneath the table. We’ve mellowed out, both grateful Eddie made it back to spend the second half of the day with me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Losers don’t make the trip over for my birthday anymore. The urgency to regroup has softened as other priorities sharpen. But my desire to spend my birthday with Eddie, remains as present as ever.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Monday 21st August 2023 (Richie is 47, Eddie is 46)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie: </b>
  <span>Eddie’s been walking around the house in the tightest pair of running shorts I’ve ever seen. We’ve been awake for less than an hour but I’m wound up enough to want to poke him until he bursts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can’t believe you still have that beard during the hottest month of the year,’ I say, mentally drooling at how fucking fine he looks when he doesn’t shave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s sat next to me at the kitchen island, half a bagel in his hand. He hasn’t yet noticed the tiny smidge of cream cheese nestled on the bow of his top lip that I’ve made plans for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can’t believe you come in your pants every time I rub my face on your legs,’ Eddie says, whip fast back at me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do not,’ I say quietly, lulling him into a false sense of security that he’s won the volley. He’s absolutely right, but I’m never gonna admit it during verbal foreplay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I smooth my thumb admiringly over the thick brown hairs on his upper lip, smearing cream cheese with it. I have to clench my ass to stop my mouth splitting open and giving me away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s twenty minutes before Eddie walks past a mirror and screams blue murder at me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I have plans to rile him up further on the morning dog walk, but he disappears before we go, leaving me to find an empty shower and a bathroom full of steam. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I find him in the pool with Nova when I get home from work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He must have gone somewhere good if he’s letting her swim. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I strip and side plank into the pool at an angle calculated to cover Eddie with the biggest possible wave. He descends on me when I surface, pinching me into a slippery embrace. I’m licking my greeting behind his teeth when I twig that his cheek wasn’t smooth the last time I saw him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pull away with a smack and a pout.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I have a question from seventeen year old Richie.’ Eddie grins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hair, wet and heavy has flopped over the side of his face like a waterfall, dripping water down his cheek and neck in the same path my fingers ran thirty years ago. I run my thumb over the line of his jaw, my memory not good enough to know if his skin feels the same as it did then, but knowing for a fact all the same that it must do. It’s the exact same Eddie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You disappointed then?’ He frowns. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I could never be disappointed,’ I say, pulling him flush with me and meaning it with every six foot two inch of me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s naked too, little minx. We feel each other up as much as we can in the pool. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nova’s abandoned us for the safe zone of the patio, outside of the lusty blast radius she’s used to fleeing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie makes a fuss that I know is just to save face and lets me carry him down to the bottom garden, where we’re blocked off from the world with carefully placed landscaping. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I roll him around in the grass until we’re both giggly from lack of oxygen, and swallow him down, watching the patterns the light makes as it filters through the tree leaves and onto his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He strokes me off afterwards into the grass, one hand on me where I’m red and vulnerable, another three fingers inside my mouth, keeping us on the right side of the neighbours. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I watch my come soak into the ground. Now forever part of the land and proof that Richie Tozier was here and he was loved by Eddie Kaspbrak. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Friday 29th September 2023 (Richie is 47, Eddie is 47)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> There’s a box sitting on the doorstep when I get home from the morning dog walk. It’s addressed to me in Eddie’s handwriting, which is strange. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I carry it to the coffee table and slice through the tape one handed, keeping Nova’s nose away from the scissors with my other hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The box is stacked with loose photographs. I skin through the first couple of layers to find they’re all of Eddie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sit back for a minute, overwhelmed. He must have travelled to New York and retrieved them from his old house. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I close the box, wondering if I should wait for him to come back before I properly snoop. I reread the front of the package, addressed to me and not himself and decide that’s enough permission to keep going. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I push the table back to make some space on the floor and start putting photographs in piles, trying to make a timeline with them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There are photos of Eddie as a baby, chubby faced with a tiny nose and little tufts of curly hair tumbling over his ears, and a run of annual first day of school photos that increase in eyebrow intensity alongside age. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And there are reams of us Losers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The standout is few camera rolls worth from a week in summer 1990, when Eddie and I found $10 on the sidewalk outside the pharmacy. We’d argued for an hour about what we should spend it on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I remember Eddie’s winning argument, as bright as if he were standing in front of me yelling it now.  </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘We would never have found it if it wasn't for me. We would never have even been at the pharmacy to see it.’ </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s plan was spending half the money on two rolls of film for the camera I’d gotten from my Aunt for my Birthday, and the other half on developing them. Then we spent three blissful days, joined at the hip, fighting over what to snap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every part of it was contentious and glorious. How to angle the camera, who was gonna hold it,<em> 'why’d you wanna take photos of bugs all the time Richie', 'cause bugs are cool, Eddie'. 'it’s my camera, Eds', 'well it’s my film, Rich'</em>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’d wasted a couple of photos, snapping Eddie’s stern little face when he was concentrating and that had always set him off again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My absolute favourite is a photo of the clubhouse ceiling. It was the last photo in the second roll, the number twenty-four peeking in from the side of the roller window before we took it. We were trying to get a group photo, all seven of us squeezed together for a blind selfie. Eddie was practically sitting in my lap, convinced in blind, idiotic rage that he needed to be the one taking the photo, even though he had the shortest arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d wobbled, knees either side of my legs on the bench, just before pressing the button. The wind up noise of the flash fresh in our ears, as he grabbed my hair to balance and I upended him into Mike, the photo snapped as the camera swung up towards the ceiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I keep digging around in the box, until I find a pair of photos that make my breath stop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s young but older than I ever knew him as a kid. The date scribbled on the back of the photograph says October 1993, so he’d be seventeen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s stood, hands on his hips, looking serious, one eye closed in a wink to the sun. He’s dressed in navy blue shorts that sit high on his waist and thighs, a white running tank with a New York school emblem embossed on the left side of the chest, tidy white sneakers laced up to the top holes on his feet, over even tidier white running socks. It’s a school track team photo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I rub my thumb over the bridge of his nose, where it’s covered in freckles, like it is all the time now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The second photo is the same pose, but Eddie’s laughing. I feel molten jealous at whoever made him laugh like that, his knees are bent forward, making him even shorter, mouth open showing teeth, eyes crinkled shut. He’s fucking perfect. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hold the smiling photo out to Nova. ‘Look, it’s Eddie.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sniffs it, ears perking up at Eddie’s name and I cuddle her close to me, overwhelmed that I get to see all of this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie walks in a couple of minutes later and finds me crying, rubbing my face into the dogs fur for comfort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Where'd you get these?’ He gestures to the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I point to the box, wiping my face on my sleeve. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie sits down, maneuvering the dog back onto the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I rest my head on his knees, while he looks over the photos spread out across the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How come you didn’t tell me you found all this?’ I ask, my eyes sliding closed as Eddie messes with my curls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I haven’t done it yet. I must go back to New York at some point. There should be some of me from high school, after I left Derry.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hold up the track photos. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘This why you’re crying?’ Eddie laughs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I rub my face against his leg. ‘You’re so fucking cute Eds, I can’t take it. Can’t believe I never got to see you like this. You have a boy band haircut.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie huffs. ‘I hated that haircut.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s cute.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I think you might actually. See me, I mean.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I came to LA once, when I was seventeen. I got chased by the beach after stealing some shorts and a couple of guys helped me. They, er, bought me a sandwich.’ Eddie laughs at the memory. ‘I think it was you and Mike.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No fucking way.’ I pinch his shorts between my fingers. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighs. ‘It was meant to be a surprise. I didn’t think it would take so long to happen or I would have said something.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I kiss his knee and sit up, scooping him into my arms. ‘I’m gonna see you looking like a fresh boy band look alike?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Shut up. It might not have been you.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh it’s me alright. You’re always coming to visit me, this’ll be the same.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I tilt Eddie’s face back. His eyes slide shut, ready for me to kiss him, but I look at him instead. Gorgeous and perfect. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What are you doing?’ He asks, eyes still closed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I close the distance, tilting his face gently until I find the angle that makes him sigh and press against me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie pulls away, distracted when my phone vibrates. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What are you doing?’ He holds up the Loser group chat, scrolling up the replies to the track photo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sharing the love.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Did you put this on twitter too? Richie.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I didn’t!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The phone buzzes again, with a photo of Ben with the exact same haircut. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You look like ‘90’s Wham!’ I say, trying to wrestle the phone off him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What else is in the box?’ Eddie asks, answering his own question and looking inside. ‘Yes!’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He waves a Kylie Minogue tour DVD at me that we already have two copies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why do you need three fucking copies of that?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie holds up his finger, sliding a ticket stub out of the case. ‘This is the copy with my ticket inside, Richie. It’s special.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Christ alive. How did see Kylie Minogue and not realize you were gay?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t stereotype me. Straight men like her, Ben likes her.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ben is special.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m not special?’ Eddie switches the TV on. ‘Take your shirt off.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, Eddie-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I gave you a gift today, Richie. A big one.’ He shoves me up the couch and sits in my lap, making a very convincing argument. ‘We’ll just watch a little bit.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘The cowboy bit?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘See, you fucking like it.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘All the dancers look like you, of course I like it.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie unbuttons my shirt, quick like a squirrel and lies back against me, arranging my hands across his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s kept so few things from his life before LA, that I know I shouldn’t mock him about his love of mainstream pop music, one of the few things both he and Myra enjoyed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ll take you to see her next time she tours,’ I whisper, coming up for air after sucking a mark on his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You will not. I’m not letting you ruin it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I gasp. ‘Eds, I would never.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You would fuck about.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’d be respectful. I know it’s special, the short person bond you have-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lick Eddie’s hand when he covers my mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Take off my shirt.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fucking finally, I think, whipping it around my head in time with the music and launching it across the room for Nova to chase. She drags it back to her bed and sits on top of it, while Eddie glares back at me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What did you do that for?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I laugh while he slaps my face. ‘Play some Kylie on the show today.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, I’m not doing that again. I’ll get booed.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t care. I’m worth it.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie yells before I can reply, sitting up so he can half way dance along to one of his favourite songs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pinch his hip when he looks down at me, smiling. Definitely worth it. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Monday 19th February 2024 (Richie is 47, Eddie is 47)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> There are two teenage faces pressed against the glass of the doors into the garden. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’d be shocked if this wasn’t a regular occurrence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I slink off down the hall to the office before they notice me, dragging Nova along with me. I text Eddie, who asks me to wait a few minutes until they finish so I don’t distract them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wait for the click of the lock and their shouts of excitement before coming out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I high five them as they raid the fridge for treats and join Eddie in the garden. It’s school break and Eddie’s running one of his crash courses for Chrono Impairment kids. This morning it’s breaking and entering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You taking them over to Mike’s after this?’ I ask, sitting down on the end of Eddie’s lounger, pulling his feet in my lap </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah. We’ve got the front door here first.’ Eddie raises his voice and the kids salut him, walking through the house to get to work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I rub Eddie’s toes. ‘Is the new kid here today?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, tomorrow maybe. They disappeared last night.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Shit.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t know if I’m gonna make the morning walks this week,’ Eddie says, more to Nova than to me. ‘Might be busy catching up.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shrug. ‘You’ve gotta whip em into shape. Whip em good.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thin ice.’ Eddie slaps my leg and stands, leaving me to follow the kids. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Tuesday 7th May 2024 (Richie is 48)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> I’m sitting on a deck chair at the back of the film stage, feeling sorry for myself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My call time isn’t for another forty-five minutes, but I can’t stand the thought of sitting alone in my trailer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s been gone for four days and I’m not dealing with it very well. He hasn’t jumped for longer than twenty-fours hours in a long time and I’d forgotten how lonely it is going to sleep alone for nights and nights in a row. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nova always sleeps in the bed with me when Eddie’s away. She’s annoyingly chipper in the mornings, but when he’s away she’ll contently stay in bed with me, both of us becoming morose mother fuckers without him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I should be grateful really, that Eddie’s away during a busy week on set. I wouldn’t be at home with him right now anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My phone vibrates from my pocket with an incoming call from Stan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Stan the Man,’ I answer, faking a smile to my voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey, I’m at the airport.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Good for you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘LA airport. Come pick me up.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something seems off. Stan is organized, he’d never just show up at LA airport unannounced. This feels like an intervention I’m not sure I want. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m on set.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Bill said your call time got pushed, so you’re free.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill waves at me from across the stage and I want to punch him through the wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What are you doing Stan?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I had a quiet week at work. You don’t want to see me?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frustration drains out of me so fast I feel dizzy. ‘Of course I do. You’re really here?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The arrival lounge tannoy drowns out Stan’s reply. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I check my pocket for my keys and rush from the stage. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Friday 10th May 2024 (Richie is 48, Eddie is 17)</span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> Stan stays for the rest of the week. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He spends the first evening chewing me out for not sharing how I was coping and the rest of the time just being around for me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hangs out with Nova heaps, which she loves. He’s small and serious like Eddie, which is probably why she likes him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill and I make up some script rewrites which require re-planning from a bunch of departments, scoring us a three day weekend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We’ve been at the beach with Nova all morning. Mike’s joined us and taken Eddie’s usual role, standing by the waves and throwing Nova’s ball as far as he can, so she can dive in and swim after it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I miss Eddie horrendously. I miss the sexy little walk back up the beach he does, with Nova flicking water and bits of seaweed all over his legs to dirty them up. I miss the way his trunks cling to his hips and thighs, higher than his shorts normally sit, showing a little ring of white skin, that sets my teeth on edge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sit on the beach and watch the sea a lot when we come here, when Eddie’s too far down the beach to ogle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I watch the waves bringing sea debris back to the shore where it belongs, like time brings Eddie back to me. Little bits of him get lost out there sometimes, the months of cumulative time since we reunited in Derry that he’s spent elsewhere. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s nothing I can do now but wait, so he has somewhere safe to come back to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I get pulled out of my head by Bill flicking toasted almonds at my face. He’s trying to ping them off the rim of my glasses, counting his victories.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Stop being so morbid, he says, when I look over with a distasteful glance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Stop being so insensitive.’ I flick him back with a handful of sand. ‘My lover is missing.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill gags at my choice of words and flicks sand back at me. We get very close to slapping each other, when Stan shouts from the edge of the water. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wobbles, toppling over backwards. Nova surfaces behind him, misinterpreting his shouting for a game and jumps on top of him as he tries to stand, pushing him back down under another wave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike wades in, trying to help Stan stand, but drops him belly laughing as Nova continues to jump and push Stan down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nova’s back up the beach, licking my face by the time I’ve got control of my laughter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I think we should go before Stan falls over anymore medium sized mammals,’ Bill says, kicking me off the towel to pack up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, watch out for the birds, Manial,’ I laugh. ‘They walk as well as fly.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stan’s sopping wet, dripping a line of water behind him on the pavement as we walk along the food strip towards the car.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s more shouting, way up the street, as someone bursts out of a store, running toward us. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I grab Mike’s arm. ‘It’s Eddie.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nova knows it. She barks and pulls on her lead as he gets closer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s young, the spit of his track photo, his face a continuous hard angle of concentration, eyes wide and terrified. He’s running so fucking fast. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s not Eddie, that’s a kid,’ Bill scoffs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s Eddie. Stop the guys chasing him.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie whips past us, knocking me and Stan on the arm, not slowing down for a second. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I chase after him, calling his name. He double takes and trips, catching himself in a lunge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I throw him my shirt and cap on reflex, jogging to a stop, while he checks the scene behind me, breathing hard. No-one’s chasing him anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How do you know me?’ he asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m friends with a time traveller. He told me about you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie swallows and trembles. ‘Henry?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, that’s him.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s staring, like there’s something on the tip of his tongue and if he concentrates hard enough he’ll figure it out. He doesn’t look quite as scared anymore, so maybe he’s worked out enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You wanna meet my dog?’ I ask, looking back down the street, where the others are watching us. Nova’s still pulling her lead, desperate to get to Eddie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m allergic.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hold myself back from laughing. ‘She’s hypoallergenic.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh.’ Eddie doesn’t look convinced and I hate that I can’t tell him who I am. I hate that he wouldn’t know me, even if I did tell him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You hungry? We were about to eat.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How do you know Henry?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We went to College together.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie squints, looking me up and down. ‘What year is it?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘2024.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s eyebrows skyrocket, but he walks towards me slowly, hesitant but brave and we join the group. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod to them to sit at an outdoor table at the nearest cafe. Bill and Stan look completely dumbstruck and I pray they don’t say anything stupid to confuse Eddie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I text them to be cool and not to speak, while Eddie’s distracted dealing with Nova. He giggles as she jumps up to lick his face, almost wrapping her paws around his shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pull her down and hold her collar, so Eddie can sit down and order, her tail slapping my arm continuously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t have any money,’ Eddie says quietly to me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t worry about it, it’s my good deed for the day.’ I wiggle my eyebrows, making him smile. ‘Do you want to look up Basketball scores or something?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie laughs, his eyes wide and amused. ‘Er- Baseball. Do you have one of those small computers?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike hands over his phone, loaded to a page of historical Baseball scores that Eddie stares intently at as he scrolls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m so grateful for this moment, because it gives me time to look at him. I would have given anything to have him show up like this in my orbit when I was seventeen, but this is a very close consolation prize. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie hands back the phone and eats his sandwich in four huge bites. He takes a swig of water and I can tell he’s about to launch into a question from the shape his eyebrows are making, when he vanishes, the half full tumbler he was holding rolling across the table and drenching my shorts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nova barks, climbing over my feet to sniff his empty chair and I go back to waiting. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Sunday 12th May 2024 (Richie is 48, Eddie is 47)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I wake up with a jolt, lurched back to the present and into Richie’s lap on the couch at home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughs, his face too close to mine for me to see him properly. I hold his chin still to kiss him. I’ve missed him terribly and I want him to know how glad I am to be back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He squeaks against my mouth, faffing about with something in his hands instead of kissing me back properly, so I grab it, throwing it away from us and tilt his head back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turns his head away, laughing and nods behind me, where Stan is sitting. He’s very still, eyes closed like he’s meditating, possibly trying to purge his brain from the inside out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I scramble backwards, taking the hat in Nova’s mouth to cover myself as I run to the bedroom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Look at the frenetic slut energy I have to deal with,’ Richie says, while I’m still in earshot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t hear Stan’s reply but I hope he’s telling Richie to shut the fuck up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I dress and sit on the bedroom floor, horrified by what just happened. I haven’t seen Stan in ages, but I’m so embarrassed at throwing myself at Richie in front of him that my only option is hiding until he leaves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie pokes his head around the door, bringing Nova with him, who launches herself at me in greeting. I lie back, knowing the quickest way to calm her down is letting her climb all over me, until she gets bored.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie sits on the edge of the bed and takes one of my hands in his. He looks tired, and pleased, the type of pleased that is mostly relief. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey,’ I reply, tugging him towards me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fucking missed you.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Come here then.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We sandwich the dog between us, so it becomes a wiggly wet mess of a hug, but it’s perfect. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why is Stan here?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie frowns and shrugs, sadness creeping across his face</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I kiss his cheek. ‘I thought you were over that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sometimes I am.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s been a while here too?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Over a week.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod, resisting the urge to apologize for something I can’t control. Something I really wish wasn’t happening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m glad you told him.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie tuts and sighs. ‘Yeah, didn’t actually say anything. Bill noticed and ratted me out.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Good, you stoic shit brain.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie presses his nose against my cheek, the gesture soft and stupid, just like him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We were talking about dinner before you showed up,’ he says, patting my stomach as it rumbles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes. Carbs.’ I pull Richie up onto his feet in haste, ravenous now that we’re talking about food. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I’ve been filled in on the events of the past week while we eat pasta at a restaurant a few blocks from the house. I don’t say it, but I’m so jealous of Richie, surrounded by our friends, while I’ve been on my own in New York. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stan’s flying home tomorrow morning, so I won’t get to spend a lot of time with him. I know Richie feels like he gets the short end of the stick, but I don’t know if he’d feel that way if he was on my side of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Earth to Eddie.’ Stan taps the back of my hand. ‘Where did you go for a week?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘New York.’ I glance at Richie. ‘Mailed you the photos. Then I stayed in the city, waiting to come back.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You stay with a friend?’ Stan asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, er-’ I rub my face awkwardly. ‘Stayed in a hotel.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Visit all your old haunts?’ He continues, as if it was a holiday.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Not really. New York isn’t my favourite place.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stan contemplates continuing his line of questioning but decides against it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I thought about getting the train back to LA,’ I continue. ‘But it’s such a long trip to come back part way through. Didn’t wanna push my luck.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ve thought about using the train before instead of the red eye. Patty doesn’t like flying, but she wants to come visit you both. We can make the most of the journey if one of us doesn’t have to drive.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Travelings not as flash when you’re alone.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stan nods in reply, the atmosphere around the table reflective. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m hardly gonna get to see you before I go back to set tomorrow,’ Richie says, breaking his silent spell. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What time is your call?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘7am.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s useless enough at 10am, let alone 7am. Not seeing him all day tomorrow is unacceptable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What?’ Richie asks, as I think through a plan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I could come with you. I’ll have some things to catch up on, but I’ll bring my laptop. We can see each other between takes? Is that how it works?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie smiles. ‘We’ll make that work.’</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Saturday 30th November 2024 (Richie is 48, Eddie is 48)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> I’m lying in the grass at the bottom of the garden with Eddie. We’re basking in the late afternoon sun after tiring Nova out with the frisbee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m playing with Eddie’s hair, his head resting on my shoulder, when a thought that’s been rattling around my brain tumbles out against my will. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you remember the date we’re meant to open those letters?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie sits up. ‘It’s 2026 isn’t it? January?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can’t remember.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ll go check.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, don’t worry about it,’ I say, regretting ever opening my big mouth as Eddie stands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Won’t be able to relax unless I look. I totally forgot about it.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I grimace in apology.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I didn’t forget about it, but I’ve been too scared to look on my own. I think Eddie’s right, that it’s 2026 and we’ve got just over a year. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I keep thinking back to the day Eddie wrote the letters. How different he looked and how angry with me he was. He never looks at me like that now, but he will, because of something I do, something so bad and terrible he has to pre-warn us. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My brain spends hours sometimes, conjuring new and increasingly horrifying things that could happen to Eddie while he’s travelling. The worst thing it’s ever thrown back at me is myself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I have a recurring nightmare, only ever when Eddie’s away. I’ll be cooking dinner for two, hedging bets that he’ll be back any minute. I’ll turn around from the stove, moving back towards the chopping board, when Eddie appears in the path of my extended arm, impaled on the end of my knife, straight through the sternum, the knife growing longer and wider with every passing second. Blood oozes out of Eddie’s mouth, the same way Pennywise taunted me with once. There’s nothing I can do, Eddie dies, eyes wide and helpless in my arms on the kitchen floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I slowly make my way back up to the house, feeling sick. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s at the kitchen table with the notebook open, waving the letters at me. The words </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Do not open until 2nd January 2026’</span>
  </em>
  <span> are legible on the front.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘So much knowledge in that compact little bod’, I say, dragging a chair up behind him so I can drape myself across his back. ‘How many visits have you got left?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I was just counting. I think ten.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That all happened so quickly. Feels like the other week I was giving you shit for throwing us into an alternate timeline.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shockwave from Eddie’s eye roll nearly knocks me backwards. ‘Those don’t exist.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Which dates have you got left?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie points them out. There’s a couple of big ones left, but he’s done all of the overnight visits from what I remember. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Wait, you’ve done this one?’ I point to 3rd September 1993. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, that happened last year for me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘The visit where you told me we’re married? The one that started this whole thing off?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie turns his head and very tellingly doesn’t reply. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eds.’ I pinch his arm. ‘We’re not actually married.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We’re practically married though, as good as.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why? Because we live together and have a dog? Because we have a shared accountant and I know what type of cheese you like on a breakfast sandwich, and that it’s different to the cheese you like on a regular sandwich.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Exactly.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s very different to acknowledging you wanna spend the rest of your life with someone.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie tenses and I deeply regret the mess I’ve made of the afternoon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You think I don’t want that?’ He asks quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, I think you do.’ I press my nose to the back of his neck. ‘Fuck- I didn’t mean- We just haven’t talked about it for years.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We can talk about it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can we?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie doesn’t reply. I try to turn his head but he won’t return my eye contact. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why did you tell me we were married?’ I press. ‘Because it’s not because we’re actually married. I’m not mad, I would just like to know. I wanna understand what you meant.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You said we were married at the Jade, so I had to tell you that,’ he blurts. ‘I was trying to wait until after we were both married, but that visit just felt like the right time. I didn’t wanna miss my chance or you’d never have kissed me at the Jade and all this wouldn’t have happened.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It would have still happened.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If I hadn’t told you I was gay and we were together in the future, and all that stuff, would you have honestly walked over to that table and kissed me like that when you saw me again?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pretend to think about it, knowing resolutely there is no way in hell I would have done. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Probably not,’ I admit. ‘I would have got drunk and tried to arm wrestle you or something. Tried to rough you up.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I wouldn’t have realized I was gay,’ Eddie says, stroking my cheek with his finger. ‘I probably would have caved and gone back to Myra. Rich, we might never have seen each other again.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s not possible though, if there aren’t alternate timelines.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘See, you get it. I had to tell you we were married, because you always knew. You told me, making it inevitable that I would tell you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘So am I the chicken or the egg?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re both. Both of us are both.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I wanna be the egg. Sexier.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie tries to push my face away from his neck. ‘Eggs are not sexy.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eds, crack an egg on that ass of yours and it would fry.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ducks his face away as I try to kiss him properly. Fucking lier it’s not sexy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That's because of my ass,’ he giggles. ‘Not the egg.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It's a little bit about the egg. I would eat an egg off that ass all day every day, baby.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Honestly, this is the number one reason we’re not married.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘But we can talk about it?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie ditches his chair, climbing into my lap. ‘Maybe. After we sort whatever's in the letter.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leans in to kiss me, so I don’t get a chance to reply, but I can’t help thinking he feels the same way. He knows, just as clearly as I do, I’m the reason he writes those letters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Wednesday 19th February 2025 (Richie is 48, Eddie is 48)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I appear on my knees in the snow. The sun is low in the sky and I pray for a moment it’s coming up and I’m not about to have a very cold night. The fear of that implication cripples me and for a long moment I can’t move. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This must be what the letters are talking about. I’ve traveled to the future and got stuck in the snow, but I’ve warned Richie and he’ll burst through the bushes behind me any second now, nose pink, hair stuffed into a deerstalker. He’ll scoop me up, wrap his high collared coat around me and take me to a log cabin, where the wood fire is already burning and fuck the warmth back into me.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wait another ten seconds before fear swings me into motion. I’m on my own and I have to move. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The house in front of me is all tall glass windows and strong angles. I power walk across the garden, desperately trying to place where I am. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a large wooden shed in my peripheral vision. It looks familiar, like one of the photos pinned to the office board at home. I sigh in relief as it clicks into place, I’m at Bev and Ben’s house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sprint to the shed, my feet looking very white already. Thankfully it’s unlocked, and I easily find the box they’ve left for me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I knock on the back door once I’m dressed, startling Ben into dropping his coffee mug. He scrambles for the door to let me in, ignoring the mess. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thanks so much for the clothes, lifesaver,’ I say against his shoulder as we hug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s an extra pair of arms and a warm weight behind me as Bev joins us. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eddie! Are you time travelling?’ She yells next to my ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah. I was asleep in LA, then I woke up in the snow outside.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are your feet okay?’ Ben asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I think so. I got outta the snow pretty quick.’ I wiggle my toes inside my boots to be sure, now the adrenaline is wearing off. ‘What day is it?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Wednesday. 19th Feb,’ Bev says, helping me take off my coat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘2025?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s right,’ she replies, eyes wide. ‘How did you guess it was 2025? Is it the fashion?’ She gestures at her pyjamas, laughing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s one of the rare times I’ve travelled in space but not in time, so I’m still in the same day I’m coming from. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I call Richie, waking him up before he’s even noticed I’ve gone. He makes a racket, trying to pack a bag while we talk, convinced he can make it to Portland by midday if there’s room on a flight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What happens if you go back before Richie gets here?’ Ben asks, over breakfast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shrug around a mouth full of eggs and barbecue sauce. ‘We have a really stupid, expensive story to tell.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We could wind him up, hide you in the car boot when we pick him up,’ Bev says, making herself laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t think we should joke about that,’ I reply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sorry Eds, you’re right.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We should definitely wind him up though.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tell him you’re moving to Portland?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He’ll see straight through that. He knows I hate the cold.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He tried for years to persuade us to move to LA.’ Bev ponders. ‘Right after Mike moved.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Not your scene?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We thought about it. But I love this house, and it’s too late to move now.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bev and Ben smile at each other across the table. I smile back, hoping Richie and I don’t look that smitten when we look at each other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We actually have an appointment this morning,’ Ben says. ‘You might need to come with us if we all want to pick Richie up at midday.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sure, I’ll do whatever. I’m the one imposing on you with no notice.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No imposition,’ Ben says. ‘We’re so stoked you’re here.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes, come more often.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I wish it worked like that,’ I say, as we clink coffee mugs in a toast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes it works out okay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <b>Eddie:</b>
    <span> I’m not told what the appointment is for but I piece it together when we walk into the gynecology office.</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben shows me a small, black and white photograph, the blurry lines and static framed by his fingertips as it holds it out protectively. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks beside himself, proud and excited to be a Dad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <b>Eddie:</b>
    <span> Richie peers into the backseat of the car at midday on the dot, the biggest grin I’ve ever seen plastered to his face. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I love, love, love this,’ he says, climbing in to press me back against the leather. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s not what you usually say.’ I pull his hair tie loose, so I can sweep his curls back with my hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Right now, it’s a fucking blessing Eds.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I push his face away from the side of my neck that he’s been kissing, as he starts to sing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I got a little something for ya.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Not in the car,’ I giggle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Because baby I adore yoooou,’ he finishes, twirling a glazed doughnut around one finger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I take a bite, pulling it off Richie’s finger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I hope you brought more of those. I can think of somewhere else to spin um.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Doughnut fucker.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re the fucker.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I remember where we are suddenly, glancing beside me at the shapes outside the car door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I told them to give us a minute,’ Richie says, climbing off me and signaling the coast is clear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leans forward into the space between the two front seats, just like Nova’s always. Bev swats him away as she starts the car. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Now that the foreplays over,’ Richie says, to a car full of groans. ‘Where are we going Mom and Dad?’</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>*</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> We spend the day walking around central Portland, catching up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ben holds out all day, only passing Richie the baby scan photo in the middle of dinner. He makes an off the cuff joke about Ben taking modern architecture too far before he realizes what he’s looking at. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His face cycles through ten different expressions, each one funnier than the last. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s a baby,’ Bev says, shaking with laughter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Holy shit. Holy shit, Eds, you see this?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I take the photo off him before he can ruin it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, I’ve seen it. Stop eating if you’re crying.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I take the chopsticks out of his other hand, hopeful he’ll stop crying into the wonton vegetable broth we’re sharing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m gonna be an Uncle?’ He asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah,’ Ben replies, popping the photo back into his shirt pocket. ‘Both of you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Good old Uncle Dick,’ I say under my breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I catch Bev’s eye and she mouths ‘perfect’ at me across the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I love them so much already,’ Richie laments. ‘Lil baby Marsh. Gonna own the whole world and be kind about it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We should try and do Losers Christmas this year. Baby’s due in October?’ I ask. I haven’t consulted Richie about our plans but he knocks our knees together in acknowledgement of a good idea.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘September,’ Ben replies. ‘Would probably be okay timing. We’ll think about it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Great, we need to check with Nova too,’ Richie says, trying to fit a third dumpling into his mouth before chewing. I slap the new chopsticks away before he tries a fourth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Har har. So how does this work when you go back Eddie?’ Bev asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I look at Richie, whose mouth is still too full to speak. ‘I guess Rich will fly back when I go?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah,’ he says, swallowing. ‘I mean, I’ll stick around if we’re in the middle of something, but yeah, I’ll head back when Eddie goes.’ He smiles, distracting me into kissing the corner of his mouth where he’s happy and soft. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We should call the others when we get back,’ Bev says, stealing a dumpling and starting a silent war of wills with Richie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I check the time. ‘Stan might be asleep. We should call him soon.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He can be the orgy appetizer,’ Richie replies, grinning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why?’ Ben sighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I slap Richie’s arm. ‘Stop calling our video calls orgies.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s a group all letting loose in a medium invented for modern sex,’ he replies. ‘It’s a voice orgy, a vorgy.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ll give you a fucking vorgy in a minute.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I wish you would.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We’re definitely giving them the spare room at the back of the house tonight,’ Ben says to Bev, in deliberate ear range. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s focus shifts from flirting with me to loudly arguing with Bev. ‘You can ask everyone how the film premiere went last month, seeing as you didn’t come.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I was busy!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You missed my big moment, Marsh.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I still saw the damn thing.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie gasps. ‘You didn’t love it? Eds, defend me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Shut up, you know I loved you. Your goofy fucking grin on the big screen.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie smiles, all goof to demonstrate. ‘You missed Eddie in his suit. Hoooly, I nearly didn’t make it myself.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know all about the suit, I made it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘But you never saw Eddie wear it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I saw photos.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Not the same.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Guess you’ll just need another opportunity to wear it Eds.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wiggles her eyebrows and I stuff my mouth with the last of the dumplings so I don’t have to reply. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> We get quarantined at the front of the house just like Ben threatened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not late, but Bev is tired and I’m kind of desperate to get Eddie all to myself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neither of us have sleeping pants, so we’ve climbed under the blankets in t-shirts and boxers, novel for us to need clothes and blankets to sleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie slides his foot up my leg in a tickle rather than a tease and I wonder if he’s as relieved as I am that he ended up somewhere safe in the snow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re toes okay, toots?’ I ask, as Eddie huffs and wiggles them in response. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apart from his feet, Eddie’s unusually still, a heavy weight sprawled against me, like he used to when we started sleeping together and he didn’t know how to process the way it chews you up and spits you back out sometimes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you think there’s ever gonna be a time when we’re caught up to each other?’ He asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I rub my thumb over his neck, thinking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Like, we’ll know the exact same things as each other,’ he elaborates. ‘We’ll have seen each other the same number of times.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You know how this works better than I do. You’re pretty close to finishing the visits to me in the ‘90’s. Maybe then?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘But I’ve already seen you in the future.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How far forward have you been?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘2027.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I forget sometimes that Eddie travels forward in time as well as back, but 2027 isn’t that far into the future. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do I still have my hair?’ I venture. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie laughs and we rub noses. ‘Yeah, still got it. You’ve got more grey all through the sides. It’s nice.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pretend to check Eddie’s hair for grey, even though I know there won’t be any because he’s been pulling them out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sits up, swatting my hand away. ‘Stop it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’ll have to give us the ghost sometime, it’ll come for your roots.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ugh, don’t, that’s exactly what happens.’ Eddie fans my hair out on the pillow like a halo. ‘I always feel like I’m catching up to you. You knew all about the clearing visits, all the wind ups, for years before I did.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you joking?’ I poke Eddie’s nose gently. ‘You were coming from the future. You have no idea how out of the loop that made me feel. If anyone is catching up it’s me. Holy. Shit.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you really think so?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’ve just described what my hair looks like in three years time, how is that not catching up.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie flops back down, cheek on my chest, kissing me where my hair is densest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Am I going grey there too?’ I ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I guess.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Great, thanks for that reassurance.’ I rub his back, dipping my hands under his shirt. ‘You gonna sleep like this?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Comfy,’ Eddie says, voice so soft it makes me laugh in surprise. He starts snoring softly a few minutes later, leaving me to ponder what else he knows about the future. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I appear smack bang on top of Richie in the middle of the night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He screams, elbowing me in the face as I tumble backwards into the dog. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s me, it’s me. Ow, Richie.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Shit, are you okay?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You elbowed my nose,’ I say, squinting as he turns on the bedside light. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If I’d have known you were coming, I’d have popped a stiffy. Poked you with that on re-entry instead.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I deal with an armful of excited Nova, who licks my face and tries to climb over my shoulder. I push her back so I can lie down, letting her plank on top of me, tail wagging. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I slap Richie’s arm. ‘You could have helped.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘She’s just acting how I feel, ya know.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What time is it? I can’t see with your massive head in the way.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘2am. Took you a whole day to get back.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You flew back today?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah. Woke up in the middle of the night and you were gone. I text you when I woke up, but you didn’t reply, so I figured you got lost somewhere in the time slip. I got back this afternoon. This little fluff bucket was very happy hanging out with Uncle Mikey.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lean forward to kiss Richie, just as he goes to scratch Nova’s neck, diverting his attention at the last minute. She chases his hand and ends up licking our chins. Richie wrestles her back down the bed, where she reluctantly curls up by our legs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Isn’t it weird you were gone for one day in your time, but two days in my time?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, it’s weird. Sometimes the difference is a week.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It should be like that Jodie Foster alien movie. Where she travels through the wormhole for hours and hours, but comes back on earth seconds later.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’d be so fucking old by now if that’s how it worked.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do we even know how old you are? What if you’ve missed years. Have you been keeping track?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No. What if it’s depressing and I’m actually mid fifties or something.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’d be my sexy older man, capable of running me under a bus.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s not saying much. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> asleep before you elbowed me by the way.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Er- same. Sure you’re not already at retirement age?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Shut up. Can you do that with the press tour next month? Spend a couple of seconds talking about the film then come back?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m doing most of the promo from LA. It’s only five days in New York.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I hate it though.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Think how I feel. At least you know when I’ll be gone.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sorry.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie rubs my back. ‘You’re good. I know what you meant.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I slide under Richie’s arm, cheek on his chest, just like the night before, hoping I’ll be here in the morning this time.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Thursday 10th April 2025 (Richie is 49, Eddie is 48)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I appear at the bottom of the garden and I have to sprint towards the house in the rain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nova barks at me through the back door as I struggle with the spare key in my wet hands. She tries to slip outside around me, getting her face wet before I can push her back inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Rich?’ I shout, to an empty house. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What’s gotten in you, eh?’ I say, ruffling her ears back. ‘Richie’s not walked you, huh?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laps around me frustrated, as I towel myself off and dress. I reluctantly let her out, sitting by the back door so I can throw a ball for her to let off some steam.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nova barrels past me when she hears the car, spraying water across the house to run and greet Richie at the garage door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why… are you wet?’ He asks, confused until he spots me. ‘Ah. I came back to walk her.’ He grins, apologetic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I throw him a towel from the cupboard and wait at the edge of the kitchen until Nova’s dry enough to be let loose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’ll get drenched if you take her now,’ I say, walking into his arms to kiss him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie tilts my head back, hands soft against my neck. ‘Hi.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He kisses me breathless, mouth just as soft as his hands. I sway against him until we both come up for air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thanks for my mixtape,’ I say. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I laugh at the confused look he gives me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh, oh the mixtape. I’ve left it for you before, surely?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘First time for you.’ I press my head against his chest. ‘You should make me another one.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You want another angsty teenage gut spill mix?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It wasn’t angsty. It was sweet. Romantic.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie chuckles, jostling my head with his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You don’t do anything like that anymore,’ I say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Cause you’re an easy lay, babe.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I step back, bumping my hip on the counter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey- I’m joking.’ Richie follows me, kissing my neck. ‘I play you songs on the show all the time. First song is always for you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, right.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m serious. You get a five song mix every week.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Really?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ve told you this before. I fucking knew you weren’t listening.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I listen. What song are you playing today?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tune in and find out.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yesterday?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Er- yesterday I played Good Thing by Fine Young Cannibals.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s not romantic.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie sighs. ‘You weren’t here yesterday. And it’s not always romantic. If you piss me off I play something to wind you up. Fell on dead fucking ears though, didn’t it.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I didn’t realize!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Well, now you know.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do your listeners know?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, this is our thing.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I poke my finger into Richie’s chest. ‘Good.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie slinks off to get ready for the dog walk and I try to hide how much I like the idea of him running a rolling mix for me this whole time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I grab his jacket at the front door, pulling him down to kiss me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thank you,’ I whisper against his mouth, hoping that the years we’ve spent together have finally mended his broken teenage heart.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Monday 9th June 2025 (Richie is 49, Eddie is 48)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> There’s a familiar face staring at me through the glass door at the back of the house. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jacob waves one handed, covering himself with the other. I leave him looking mortified at the door to gather some of Eddie’s clothes from the bedroom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I unlock the door and pass him the clothes without looking, trying to hold Nova back from jumping through the door at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Stop it you menace.’ I chase her onto her back with my hands, letting her bite my fingers until Jacob comes inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘When are you coming from?’ I ask. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jacob sniffs as I turn to look at him. His face is red, bottom lip trembling. ‘Christmas day.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Aw, Jake.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘They’re gonna be so mad at me.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s talking about his parents, who I’ve had the displeasure of meeting once. I know what an empty gesture it would be to try and console him. They loathe any mention of time travel, let alone when it dares disrupts their plans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you wanna go home and talk to them now? I can drive you-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No. They’ll freak if there’s two of us there.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nova saunters past me to jump at Jacob. He tells her to sit, like Eddie’s shown him and she does. He sniffs again, smiling down at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You wanna stay here?’ I ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jacob nods and shuffles on his feet, not convinced he’s welcome. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You hungry?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah. Sorry.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t be sorry. I live with Eddie, so I know the drill.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I open the fridge in a well worn routine and throw Jacob a block of cheese and a dinner roll. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘This is to tide you over. We’ll order dinner soon, once Eddie’s back. Your pick.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie walks through the door ten minutes later, puffed and drenched from running, his eyes darting between us as Nova laps around his legs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I hope Richie’s letting you pick dinner,’ he says to Jacob, smiling and leaning against the kitchen counter to catch his breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You don’t have to feed me,’ Jacob replies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You travelling?’ Eddie asks, voice soft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘From Christmas.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They exchange a look I can’t fully read. A shared acknowledgment of something I’ll never experience. Eddie squeezes Jacob’s shoulder on his way to the shower. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re picking tonight's movie too Jake. Don’t let Richie influence you.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘They’re all my movies! You can’t pick a bad one,’ I shout, so Eddie can hear me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jacob relaxes into the evening, once we’re full of Thai food and engrossed in a French horror movie that keeps Eddie’s feet tensed and wedged under my legs. Jacob laughs his way through the jump scares and gore, shoveling popcorn into his mouth at a speed only a teenager could stomach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I overhear them talking quietly in the hallway outside the spare room as we all get ready for bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m sorry for showing up in the garden. It won’t happen again.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie sighs. ‘Come here whenever you want. You don’t have to be travelling.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jacob replies, muttering something I can’t make out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I mean it. You know where I keep the spare key and the lock picks in the front garden?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Under the third shrub.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Good. Help yourself to whatever you want in the kitchen if you wake up first.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thank you.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I peer around the corner and catch Eddie’s eye over Jacob’s shoulder as they hug. He blinks slowly and shoos me away with his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He meets me in our bathroom, tucking his feet between mine and pressing his face into my back. I pass him his toothbrush loaded with paste when he comes up for air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thank you for looking after him before I got back.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s fine. How else am I supposed to know who all the cool new bands are.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie laughs and loops our arms together. ‘Did you hear what I told him?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He raises an eyebrow in question. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s fine. I don’t mind if he’s here.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thank you.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Any if your Chrono kids can come here. If it were you in their position and you had somewhere safe to stay, I’d be sending that person flowers once a week.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m worried about him. The other kids can just go home.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t know how to fix this for him.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I spit and rinse while Eddie stares at himself in the mirror, brush dangling from his fingertips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t think you can.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie drops his head, so I rub his neck, gentle, like I try to keep my voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You can still be a safe space for him. He’s so lucky to have you, Eds.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie steps on my feet to get closer. I sway him, threatening to dip him back but never going through with it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t say it because I don’t think I need to, because Eddie knows how lucky I feel to have him. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Sunday 23rd Nov 2025 (Richie is 49, Eddie is 49)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> Eddie hasn’t disappeared for two months. It should feel like a balm for me, a perfect slice of time, where he’s exactly where he should be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it feels like a bad premonition, the calm before the storm. A bad one, where widows are made when the men go out to sea because the town need to eat. But they never come back and everyone starves. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Wednesday 24th December 2025 (Richie is 49, Eddie is 49)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> I’m two seconds from smacking Eddie around the head with my wooden spoon, when the doorbell rings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We do not need to go to the store, again, you little gremlin,’ I tell him, waving the spoon in his face threateningly. ‘We have enough food for everyone twice over. The door.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We don’t have tomato juice,’ Eddie groans. ‘What’s that drink with tomato juice?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Bloody Mary,’ Patty shouts from the couch, not looking up from making friends with Nova. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Exactly. What if Mike wants one.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why the fuck would Mike want one? He drinks beer. Eddie, the door.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m halfway through tossing a salad, trying to nudge him out of the kitchen with my foot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s Bev and Ben with the baby. Eddie won’t stop apologizing for leaving them on the doorstep, even though no-one is listening over the clamber to get a look at the tiny little face poking out from the blanket in Ben’s arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nova’s following Eddie’s lead, backing away slowly, looking nervous. Her tail’s going a mile a minute, watching all the new faces. I lean down with her, feeling the whine in her chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s Ben and Bev and baby Ruby. She’s gonna love you, you just gotta be patient cause she’s small and dumb right now, like someone else I know.’ I elbow Eddie in the leg, but he’s not paying attention. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie was so nervous about getting a dog, in case he disappeared and lost her, or hurt her reappearing. He’s going to be even worse around a baby. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nova gets over herself, wandering between everyones legs before sitting down next to Stan, who's won the honour of first cuddle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wrap my arms around Eddie, kissing his cheek. ‘You okay?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m gonna disappear. I always fucking disappear at these things, sorry.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s fine, it’s not your fault.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie turns around, tucking himself against me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Help me, yeah?’ I say. ‘Take your mind off it, might help you stay calm. You’re better than me at cheese platters.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m only better because you just tip stuff on,’ Eddie says, pulling crackers out of the cupboard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sent a text to the group earlier on our support chat, that Eddie was on edge and it was probably best to let him faff around them. I didn’t tell them that I’m also on edge. Every time someone even thinks about Eddie disappearing, my skin prickles in a cold sweat, thinking about what’s going to occur in two weeks time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m not watching when it happens, but know the second he leaves. I’m facing the stove, crunching grapes that I’ve stolen from Eddie’s platter as he left the kitchen.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The air in the room shifts and the plate smashes to the ground before Eddie reaches the lounge. The baby screams and everyone stares.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bev, Ben and Patty aren’t moving. They’ve never seen Eddie do that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s little shards of porcelain all over the floor, like all the pieces of Eddie, constantly spread out over time. I want to scoop them up in my hands and put them back together, regardless of how sharp they’ll be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Rich?’ Bill asks, hand covering mine on the bench. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m good. He’ll be back soon,’ I say, with a smile that doesn’t make it any further back than my front teeth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I spot Richie by the pool, his feet dangling in the water, as I make my way back to the house from the lower garden. It’s dark and cold, so it must be late. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leans back on his hands, to look at me upside down. He smiles, pleased to see me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hands me his sweater as I sit down, the navy one I got him a few years ago. I hook my foot over his in the water, as he does the same with his arm, wrapping it around my shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I raise my eyebrow in question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Just a couple of hours.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I hope it’s out of my system now,’ I say, faking a laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, me too.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘For your sake, having to deal with everyone’s reactions, cleaning up the mess.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t care about that. You’re the one that misses out.’ Richie strokes my cheek with his finger. ‘Maybe you had a great time wherever you went, but you miss so much sometimes.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I look up at the stars, blinking at us from thousands of years ago. Stars that might not exist anymore, shining tonight anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I wish I didn’t have to miss anything. Some of the things I’d still want to do. I’d still want to visit you in Derry. That’s probably the only thing actually, that I’d still really want to do.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If you could stop tonight and never do it again, would you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If I could still have this?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie drops a kiss, velvet soft onto my mouth. The angle is weird, with my head tilted to the side. I feel his eyelashes dance on my cheek for a moment, as he pulls back blinking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘This has already happened,’ he replies. ‘But of course you’d still have this.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Then I’d want to stop.’</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Thursday 25th December 2025 (Richie is 49, Eddie is 49)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> Everyone is avoiding the subject. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m relieved to start with, I thought it would be twenty questions at breakfast, that I’d have to repeat over and over all day. But everyone’s acting like I didn’t disappear in front of them last night, painting the floor with soft cheese.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Have you told them not to bring it up?’ I whisper angrily, trying to pin Richie to the fridge with my finger before we sit down for dinner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No. Maybe they don’t care. Though you’d be pleased. Is this what’s had your jockstrap in a twist all day?’ Richie laughs, batting my finger away. ‘Why don’t you bring it up if you wanna spill your guts that bad.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You haven't even asked me where I went.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Cause you’ll tell me if you want me to know.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie leaves me stewing to hand out beers. I sit down reluctantly next to Ben, eyeing Ruby in his arms. He’s developed Richie’s knack for eating one handed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eddie wants to talk about where he went yesterday,’ Richie says, winking at me from across the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The forkful of mashed potato stops half way to his mouth, when he clocks the look on my face. I see the mental olympics flash across his features as he contemplates the pit he might have just dropped us both in. I definitely wasn’t talking to him flirtingly in the kitchen, but it’s entirely possible we spent yesterday evening fucking each other stupid in another decade for all he knows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m dying to know actually,’ says Bev, leaning around Ben’s other side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a metallic rustle as cutlery is put down, attention from seven pairs of eyes on me. I don’t know where to look, so I look at Richie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I went to the clubhouse,’ I say, to silence. ‘I think it was 1990, probably late spring. I got dumped near the Barrons and didn’t want to risk going through town to get to Richie’s house, so I hid out there.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Did you see us?’ Bill asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No. You’d remember me if I saw you. I heard us though.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I think I saw you once,’ Mike says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘In Derry?’ Richie interrupts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah. This naked guy was running through town being chased by the guy who owned the sports bar. He waved to me,’ replies Mike. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone turns to look at me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I waved on instinct, totally forgot you wouldn’t know me until it was too late.’ I grimace, embarrassed by the memory. ‘That was the day I showed up at your house with fucked up feet. You remember Rich?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, I had to make you a foot bath and you drank all of Mom’s iced tea, which I got blamed for.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Go back to the clubhouse thing,’ Stan interrupts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We were so loud, I nearly left in-case one of you saw me, fuck, in-case I saw me. But I had nowhere else to go, so I hid in the bush and listened.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I look around the table, where my friends seem moved by what I’ve told them. It’s a delicate moment of reflection, until Richie ruins it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘So you were bush out, in the bush?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The table collectively groans. Richie’s cackle is short lived as Bev tips him backwards out of his chair and onto the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You weren’t even there, jackass. I nearly impaled my foot on a rock hiding from you when you showed up late, blasting music from the road with that stupid boom box.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh my god. Let me up, I need to see Eddie’s face when he’s yelling at me like this.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Gross,’ Mike says, giving Richie his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What song was I playing? Wait, everyone remember when I used to sing that Phil Bailey song to Eddie while he had the arm cast?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You are so lucky Eddie didn’t kill you that summer,’ Mike says. ‘How are you still alive actually? I think that might be more of a mystery than what Eddie does.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Could you hear what we were doing?’ Ben asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Bill was reading us one of those creepy ghost books from the library.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m pretty sure they weren't supposed to let us rent those.’ Bev laughs. ‘They were gory.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill shushes the laughter that erupts from Richie’s end of the table. ‘You could hear that from outside in the bush?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I could hear shouting at the scary bits, and you know how loud Richie’s ghost voices were,’ I say, rolling my eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone groans again, giving Richie an opening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘So you were hatch open, on the hatch.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Stop talking about my hatch, it’s not a hatch.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I feel Ben shake with laughter beside me and take a couple of really deep breaths to steady himself from waking Ruby.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t you fucking laugh,’ I whisper sternly. ‘He needs dunking in the pool.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I wanna hear more about Richie’s ghost voices,’ Patty says devilishly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Patty, no,’ Stan groans. ‘Don’t do this to me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie takes his ghost voices all the way outside, only crying truce when Mike dangles him over the pool.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You all love manhandling me,’ he says, trying to sit in Mike’s lap. ‘Couldn’t you have done this when I was a free and easy hormonal teenager? When I could have really appreciated it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What else happened?’ Bill asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Not much. I wasn’t there very long. Couldn’t stop thinking how lucky I am, we are, to be able to still do this. Of all the times and places I could go, I got to go back to that one. A good one.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We all silently agree. It was a good one, and we’re in another good one now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> There’s a subject I’ve been avoiding, much more rigorously than any of the Losers avoided talking about my disappearance. Holding the baby. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not that I don’t think she’s cute, or that I don’t love her with the sharp, brutal part of me I was afraid of for so much of my life, or when Richie holds her, tiny in his big, soft arms, I don’t melt, because I know just how good it feels to be held by him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But I’m terrified of hurting her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bev corners me after dinner, when Ruby is asleep across her shoulder after feeding. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We’re not gonna have a lot of time before we leave tomorrow. It’s probably your last chance to hold her while she’s this small. I know you’ve been avoiding it and I know why.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I look around for an escape route to latch onto, coming up empty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You saw what happened to the cheese yesterday, are you telling me you want to risk that happening?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bev backs me towards the couch, nudging me with her knees. I only go, so we don’t collide and wake the baby. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sit. It’s not gonna hurt her if she drops an inch onto the couch. You’re gonna be a big part of her life, she’s gotta get to know you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bev lays her face up on my knees, her bum against my stomach so her legs rest against my chest. She blinks her eyes awake, looking at me. Brown eyes staring back at brown eyes. I brush my forefinger against her curling fingers and she holds me in place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bev rubs my shoulder. ‘Drink run, you want anything?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shake my head, not looking away from the tiny person who's completely relaxed against me. Someone who has no idea about the way my body could betray both of us at any moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sit with her for the rest of the evening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We devise a game, a foot tickle for every time she wiggles and kicks me. I can get her to smile by frowning or dancing my eyebrows around, just like I can with Richie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s sat next to me, storytelling about my visit during Christmas of 1993, the hand that’s not waving around in front of him is resting on my neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How old have you seen Eddie get?’ Patty asks, when Richie wraps up the story, skipping over how we shared the couch on the last night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Please tell me you’ve seen him all grey and wrinkly,’ Bev giggles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I try so hard not to tense up, but I feel it ripple through Richie too. I smooth my hand over Ruby’s tummy when she grizzles, trying to calm us both. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I haven’t seen him much older than this, actually’ Richie says, looking over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s giving me an opening, to contradict and dazzle everyone with a tale I haven’t divulged to him yet, where I jump twenty years into the future and can describe in floral detail how Richie is the only man in the world whose found a Hawaiian shirt that clashes with grey hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But I’ve got nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I think the visits just stop soon. I’ve got a couple left.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why would they stop?’ Bill asks, concerned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t answer and neither does Richie. Because for once, we’re both in the dark. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>
    <b>Richie:</b>
    <span> Eddie was on edge for the rest of the night, after we wrapped up the Christmas ‘93 conversation. So, once everyone is in bed, I wrap him up in my arms and kiss him quiet, as he spreads his legs across my hips and strokes himself off onto my chest. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s pretending to be asleep, his cheek resting on the same spot he marked when he came. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You awake?’ I ask, seeing if he’ll play ball.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tilts his head up in answer, hitting me with those devastating brown eyes he had Ruby entranced with. Some things are universal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Have you seen me on my 18th birthday yet?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I think he’s lying about multiple visits left. I think he’s just got one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Few weeks ago.’ Eddie says, rolling off me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why didn’t you tell me?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It made me sad.’ Eddie’s voice is quiet, not quite committed to leaving his body and facing the consequences of another serious conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Didn’t want to talk about leaving you. You seemed so blue that day.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I was happy too. I know what you mean, but it was a happy memory. I trusted everything you said and what we’d get to have. And you were right, you never lied to me. Except about being married.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie sticks his tongue out, blink and you’d miss it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I thought about that visit every day that summer. It made me feel invincible.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie smiles, blinking slowly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t be sad that you left me Eds, be happy that you came back to this.’ </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Wednesday 31st December 2025 (Richie is 49, Eddie is 49)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> Richie spends all afternoon building a fort in the living room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s draping sheets over the TV when I leave him before dinner to run with Nova and Mike. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We take the long route, up through the park to the best viewpoint of the city on Mulholland Drive. We do this every New Years Eve to try and wear Nova out. Anything to make the fireworks more manageable for her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fort is a new idea. We made a small one on July 4th, but Richie’s gone all out tonight, with fairy lights and sheets hung all over the living room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I find them cuddled up together after my shower, as the sun disappears for the last time this year and the crackle of faraway lights start to rip across the sky. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie grins, parting the sheets so I can crawl inside. ‘Get in here ya clean freak.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nova’s sprawled out on his lap, panting and tail wagging as she twists around to see me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hi.’ I rub her belly over her anxiety jacket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie juts his chin towards me. ‘Do me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘This is elaborate,’ I say, scratching along his jawline. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I might keep it up. I like the childhood den vibe.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I tut, looking around and catching what he’s put on the TV. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s her favourite movie!’ He defends, laughing. ‘You know how much she likes the actor in it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Because it’s you. You’re watching your own movie, Richie. Unbelievable.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t judge her.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m judging you!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Didn’t Mike wanna join us?’ Richie dissolves into laughter, holding himself up on my shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, thank god, he has plans. He invited us out by the way.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You could go out.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘On my own?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Someones gotta stay here and marvel at the raw talent and magnetism on screen with the dog.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I bristle at the idea that Richie would rather I went out with Mike. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m not going out. Since when do I like going out?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay. I mean- We want you here. Just saying, you could, if you felt like it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s hand skirts around my shoulders, pausing to squeeze my neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I look at him, feeling completely at peace with how we’ll spend the rest of the year. I kiss my contentment into his mouth and cuddle up to him properly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nova slowly becomes more nervous, as the noise outside increases. Her ears lie flat against her head as she starts to shake, whining quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re okay baby, we’re right here,’ Richie tells her softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He places his hands over her ears and strokes her cheeks with his thumbs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I fucking hate this,’ he tells me, teeth grinding together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hate it too, but some things can’t be avoided, they just have to be ridden out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Should we move her to the bed before it gets too loud?’ I ask. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t want to upset her by moving here. I’ll sleep in here.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod, leaning down to kiss Nova’s head before leaving the den to gather up pillows and blankets from our bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I come back with snacks and tea, and water for Nova, which she refuses to drink but might want in the morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘My legs are so dead.’ Richie leans back, cracking his back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lie down on my side and open my arms. ‘Get her to roll towards me.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You staying here?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, I’m not sleeping in the bed on my own. You might put on some standup and traumatize her with your misogynist jokes.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie gasps. ‘I don’t tell those anymore.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Good.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Didn’t think you’d want to slum it on the floor.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I slum it all the time when I’m travelling. This is actually nice.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ha. That’s it, the fort is staying up.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Come on, push her towards me.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ve got the blanket ready to wrap around her, but she’s reluctant to move. Richie has to tip her off his legs towards me, while she whines. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I bundle her up, tucking my face next to hers. ‘I got you. We’re both here, okay?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie wraps around her from the other side, mirroring me and rubbing our noses together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I was actually gonna put some stand up on next,’ he laughs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Christ alive-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Some of the newer stuff.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s worse, all you talk about is me. Put Totoro on or something, she likes the colours.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘She’s not actually watching. It’s my voice she likes.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Put one of your radio shows on then. At least we’ll get some musical respite.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie kisses me, smooshing our noses together, before slowly getting up to turn off the TV.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m nearly asleep when he stops faffing about, lulled by the lights and music, and Richie’s deep voice, far away through the speakers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you know where I’d rather be right now?’ He asks, voice much closer, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No?’ I reply, opening one eye, intrigued.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Nowhere.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Huh?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’d wanna be right here. If I could pick a moment, I’d pick here.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why did you word it like that then?’ I sigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Wanted to see if you’d guess.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m sleeping,’ I mumble. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie traces the shell of my ear with his thumb. ‘Okay. Happy New Year, gorgeous.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Is it midnight?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, but we’ll miss it if you’re sleeping.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hmm.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie kisses me, soft enough that I almost don’t feel it. His hand covers mine on Nova’s head, where she’s asleep and no longer trembling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I fall asleep with our fingers entwined, thinking that given the choice I’d probably pick this moment too. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Eddie: I’ve been awake since 4am. </p><p>Richie’s snoring, breath softly tickling my collarbone, as I consider getting up. I don’t want to wake him, so it takes me a while to move all his limbs out of the way. </p><p>I have no idea how today’s going to go, but he’ll probably need the extra sleep. </p><p>I run through dark, empty streets in an attempt at channeling my nerves into something productive. But all I feel as the house comes back into view is sweaty and out of breath.</p><p>Richie’s awake, leaning over his coffee on the kitchen bench. </p><p>My stomach drops from the wrecked look on his face. He must have opened the letter already. </p><p>I wait in the doorway for him to explain what happens now.</p><p>‘Can we get it over and done with?’ He asks, without looking up. ‘I can’t stand the waiting.’</p><p>I pull the coffee out from under him and take a swig. The letter is on the bench next to him, unopened. </p><p>‘Let me shower, but yeah, lets just do it. Once we know, we know.’</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>'E' rating is for Chapter 4 onwards, so this chapter is rated 'E' :)</p><p>~</p><p>This chapter deals with a violent incident. It's inline with similar events in the IT movie/book, but please check the end of chapter notes for more details if you need to before reading. They are spoilers so I haven't put them in the tags.  </p><p>Just a reminder going into this chapter for anyone who might need it, this story has a happy ending :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Friday 2nd January 2026 (Richie is 49, Eddie is 49)</span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I’ve been awake since 4am. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s snoring, breath softly tickling my collarbone, as I consider getting up. I don’t want to wake him, so it takes me a while to move all his limbs out of the way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I have no idea how today’s going to go, but he’ll probably need the extra sleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I run through dark, empty streets in an attempt at channeling my nerves into something productive. But all I feel as the house comes back into view is sweaty and out of breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s awake, leaning over his coffee on the kitchen bench. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My stomach drops from the wrecked look on his face. He must have opened the letter already. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wait in the doorway for him to explain what happens now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can we get it over and done with?’ He asks, without looking up. ‘I can’t stand the waiting.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pull the coffee out from under him and take a swig. The letter is on the bench next to him, unopened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Let me shower, but yeah, lets just do it. Once we know, we know.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> There are two smaller envelopes inside the big one. One for each of us, labelled </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘FOR RICHIE ONLY’</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘FOR EDDIE ONLY’</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s an extra note on the back of Richie’s envelope. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Do NOT let Eddie read this.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie shakes his head, sliding his envelope away from us to the other side of the bench. ‘Changed my mind, I don’t want to know.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We have to.’ I slide it back. ‘I wouldn’t have written them if it wasn’t important.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie moves away from me, so I can’t read over his shoulder and takes the letter out. It’s not long, less than a page of A5.. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Colour drains from Richie’s face as he reads, the letter held tight in his fist as he darts from the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It sounds like he made it to the bathroom before the vomiting started.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sit down on a stool, almost missing from how much my legs are shaking. Nova’s padding on the spot next to me, licking my knee as I start to read.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Eddie,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tonight (2nd Jan 26), during dinner, we visit Neibolt and come back injured. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I think you know what you need to do, but don’t hesitate once you see Richie in the deadlights.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Richie and Mike perform first aid when you come back. They save your life. I’ve told Richie what to do in his letter, but it’s better if you don’t know specifics. Please don’t ask him to tell you. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Eddie</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I sit for a minute, not knowing if it’s better to know this was coming, or to have spent one last day being blissfully ignorant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m incredibly worried that the letter doesn’t mention how I’m injured. It can’t be my feet, please don’t let it be my feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s sat on the bathroom floor when I check on him, glasses pushed into his hair, his eyes red.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You wanna talk about it?’ I ask, handing over his toothbrush, already knowing the answer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you?’ he asks, spraying foam over Nova’s head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shrug. ‘Maybe we should try and have a normal day. Did yours say during dinner?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie gets up to spit. ‘Yeah, I have to talk to Mike.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nova’s trying to lick the toothbrush dangling from Richie’s fingers. He’s stopped brushing to look at me, like he’s trying to memorize my face, like we haven’t seen each other in years. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We should walk her,’ he says, pushing her head away gently, ruffling her ears and smiling. ‘You can’t eat toothpaste, silly.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His ability to hide pain astounds me sometimes. I can hear it in his voice, but only because I know him so well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I really thought I was past the point of hurting him like this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>* </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> Richie spends a couple of hours with Mike in the afternoon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I try to distract myself by rearranging the DVD shelves in the living room. Nova helps, knocking over the piles I make on the floor with her inquisitive nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I want to run again, burn off the manic energy that seems to keep building inside me, but I don’t think I can afford to tire myself out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie comes home, wordlessly pulling me onto the couch as his little spoon, leaving my task unfinished. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mouth is soft against my neck, breath tickling my skin again. I stroke the back of his hand where it rests over my chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My stomach rumbles, but neither of us want to talk about making dinner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You know I love you, right?’ I say, regretting how final it sounds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t,’ Richie says, nerves colouring his voice. ‘What if we don’t make dinner? Let's go to bed and make love all night. I’ll pin you down so you can’t leave.’ He holds me impossibly tight, hands trembling in mine. ‘Don’t leave.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I think I do something to help us.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re going back to Neibolt aren’t you? It’s where all that blood came from.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I feel lightheaded, remembering how much of it there was, how it coloured the lake water. ‘I think so.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You haven’t been back there in years. I thought you were done.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie would think that. I haven’t told him about any of the recent Neibolt visits. They don’t last long, and I haven’t seen Pennywise, but something keeps pulling me back down there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Or you’ve just not told me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I turn around in his arms. His face is streaked with tears, cheeks hot when I touch them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eds-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I didn’t want you to worry.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie sits up, pulling out of my arms and walking to the kitchen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Let's do this then.’ He pulls the veggie drawer out of the fridge, rummaging around, decidedly not looking at me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘The sooner I go, the sooner I come back, right?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie swallows, setting his jaw to nod, just the once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> Eddie’s wrapped around my back while I saute vegetables that neither of us will end up eating. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s matching my breathing, slow ins and outs, that move our bodies against each other like a gentle tide. It’s taking all my concentration to keep my breathing calm, but I can do it, if it helps keep him here with me a second longer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s safe and sound, wrapped around my back, until suddenly he’s not. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I turn off the stove, sitting down on the floor next to the pile of clothes he’s left behind. I gather them up and hold them, until all the warmth from his body is gone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nova sits with me, her head in my lap, the missing Eddie pity party. I can’t just stay here and wait for him to come back like I sometimes do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I message Mike, telling him that Eddie’s gone so he can come over and help me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I bring out the supplies we rounded up earlier from the car and lock Nova in our bedroom with her food and water. She doesn’t need to see what happens next. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I feel calm, a side effect of all the numbness. All the time I spent worrying about something like this happening, and when it finally does, it almost feels like relief. I’m the calm center in the storm of terror, that I finally know is coming. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Friday 16th September 2016 (Richie is 40, Eddie is 40 &amp; 49)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I’m crouched behind a rock, close to the ledge of Pennywise’s lair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I almost miss Richie, when he comes careening out of the tunnel, rock in hand, because Pennywise has Mike in a death grip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fear that’s been lurking all day, roars through me, my focus fixed like a snipers mark. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey fuckface,’ Richie yells, brave and stupid all at once. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I bite my fist to stop myself from answering him, from telling him to go back into the tunnel, to be safe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hot sting of tears on my face betrays the nerve I desperately need right now, as I start to panic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What if I was lying to myself in the letter, and this is the last time I see him. I might need to die here and now, so we can have the last nine years together. I might never go back to him in 2026. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wonder how long he’ll wait for me, before he realizes I’m not coming back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not enough, we didn’t have enough time and I wasted so much of it being afraid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie drops to the ground with a thunk and I watch myself rush to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I remember this so clearly. Kissing him awake, the thrill of touching him mingled with the horror of how deep my feelings went. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I tear my eyes away from us, as Pennywise starts moving. Ginormous claw extended and swinging towards us, strong and fast, but I’m faster. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lunge, knocking Eddie and Richie apart. I close my eyes, not wanting to look at whatever is causing an explosion of pain so intense that my head swims with nausea. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie coughs beneath me, head pressed to the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I take one last look at Richie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s looking over, blind without his glasses, before I pass out. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Friday 2nd January 2026 (Richie is 49, Eddie is 49)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> Eddie re-appears on the kitchen floor, in a rush of blood and noise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s bad. His right arm is missing from the elbow down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I forget what I’m meant to do for a moment, until he reaches out in pain, calling for me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I fumble to the floor with dressing pads and a tourniquet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie screams, grinding his teeth as I try to cover the wound and apply enough pressure to stop the bleeding. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sorry, I’m so sorry. What the hell did you do, Eds?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blood soaks through the dressing in a steady gush. I layer more and more fabric, but it turns dark with blood immediately. I’m not going to be able to stop this on my own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I throw a blanket over his shoulders and pick him up. He passes out in my arms, which scares me more than the screaming. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I waste valuable seconds fumbling one handed with the door latch that I didn’t think to unlock, cursing myself stupid for forgetting something so simple. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike pulls up outside the house with a screech of tires as I stumble onto the street. He helps me get Eddie into the back seat, his hands shaking alongside mine, both of us sticky with blood by the time we get moving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie stays passed out until Mike swerves a corner, horn going full blast to clear us a path through the traffic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He moans in pain, trying to fight against me, where I’m elevating his arm against my shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t struggle. Eddie, please,’ I beg. ‘You’re bleeding so much.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks at his arm and loses consciousness again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The drive feels endless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike gets us to the hospital in fifteen minutes, with one arm on the wheel, the other pressed against the horn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d called ahead, so the triage team sweep Eddie out of my arms as soon as the car stops. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stay in the car, head in my hands, not knowing if I did enough to save him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> I watch Mike pace outside the small white room I’m sat in. He’s like a metronome, calming and infuriating in equal measure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s on the phone, talking to Stan or Bev maybe. It should be me calling them, telling them what’s happened, but I can’t say the words until I know if Eddie’s going to be okay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can’t see him yet, he’s still in surgery. All they’ll tell me is he’s lost a lot of blood. Like I need reminding, from the amount of it I’m wearing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike washed the blood off my face and hands but I still look like I’m fresh out of the birthing canal. Even my shoes are soaked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My hands shake from the implication of so much blood loss. This isn’t even all of it. Eddie left some blood at Neibolt, some at the Barrens and some at the townhouse, washed down the drain before we touched each other for the first time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This trail of blood has been hanging over us for the best part of a decade. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Stan’s at the airport,’ Mike says, closing the door behind him. ‘He’s trying to get on a red eye.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What's the point?’ I snap. ‘It’s not like he can do anything for Eddie right now.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He’s not just coming for Eddie.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I look away, ashamed. I have good people in my life, who’ll drop everything for me, and my first reaction is to throw it back in their face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I left Nova locked in the bedroom.’ My bottom lip shakes as I talk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Bill’s there now cleaning up the blood. I’ll tell him to let her out.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He doesn’t need to do that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike sits down, wrapping his arm around me. ‘You’re not going back to a bloody house.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod. Another place coated with Eddie’s blood to worry about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We both read the letter,’ Mike says, treating gently. ‘Eddie’s gonna be okay.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He could have just been saying that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How would he know to write it if he didn’t live through it?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Maybe he broke something. Or me, I probably broke something. I just stared at him when he came back, I- I couldn’t move-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How long did you stare at him?’ Mike asks, concerned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I dunno, a second, two seconds.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t think either of you broke something, Rich. I think Eddie was trying to fix something.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike’s face looks more relaxed than should be possible in a hospital waiting room, but then he always was an optimist. Calling us back to Derry in blind faith that a childhood blood pact could reverse centuries of horror. And now that same faith in the words of Eddie’s letter, that mean he’ll be protected from the consequences of a severed limb and twenty minutes of blood loss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stare at the door, willing Eddie to walk through and prove it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’ll smile at me, feet probably bare, dressed in some weird outfit he’s picked up in a mad dash through the corridors. I want him to be old, hair fully grey, new lines creased across his face. Proof that he’s alive in the future and this is long behind us. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike rubs my back as I stare at the door and wait.  </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Saturday 3rd January 2026 (Richie is 49, Eddie is 49)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> Eddie’s still unconscious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s been moved out of surgery, to a room with green walls and a small, white bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s hooked up to all sorts of things that drip liquid or beep in a soft and steady rhythm. His injured arm is tucked next to his body, bandaged and no longer bleeding. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We’ve been with him since early this morning, my uncomfortable plastic chair pulled as close as possible to the bed, so I can hold his hand in both of mine, his pulse as steady against my fingertips as the sound of the machines. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stan’s sat on the other side of the bed, playing poker with Bill and Mike. He asks me to go on a coffee run with him after every round, bitching that I haven’t moved all night except to swap rooms. But I won’t leave Eddie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They catch me wincing as I crack my back and I get marched out of the room by Stan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wants to walk around the block, but there is no way I’m leaving the building. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lean against the bench next to the coffee machine, only half listening to Stan talk about how I gotta take advantage of the downtime when I can, cause we might be in for a long wait. I get what he’s saying, but I couldn’t care less. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m staring back down the corridor towards Eddie’s room, when Bill slides into view, calling my name. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I drop my cup, foot burning as I run. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I overshoot, swinging into the doorframe and banging my shoulder, but I’m too late. Eddie’s already awake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His face is purple, shoulders jumping with sobs so violent it must be agony on his arm. He sees me and grinds his teeth together in pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hold his face still, trying to comfort and calm him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re okay. Eds, you’re okay.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You left me,’ he grits out, tears soaking my fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I didn’t. Eddie I was here.’ I glance over at the nurse, who's adjusting the pain relief drip and signally for me to keep talking. ‘The pain’s gonna stop soon, I promise.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie shakes his head out of my hold, so he can look down at himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘My arm is gone,’ he whines.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He makes an otherworldly noise that shreds me from the inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t know what to do to make this better. It’s like watching something get swept out to sea from the shore, knowing you’ve got no chance of getting it back. It’s lost forever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He blinks fast through the tears and then slowly, as the morphine starts to work. It takes him under, his head flopping back against the pillow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I dry his face with my sweater sleeve, holding my hand over his mouth to check he’s still breathing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The nurse touches my shoulder lightly. ‘I’ll be back in an hour or so.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How long will he be out?’ I ask, inconsolable that I may have lost my chance to talk to him today.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hard to tell. A couple of hours maybe. Let me know if he wakes before I come back.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She leaves and I press my face to Eddie’s chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m so sorry Rich.’ Stan touches my back whisper soft, like his voice. I want to be angry, because it’s the easiest way to feel, but I don’t have the energy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sit up when my back can’t take hunching over any longer and let Stan hold me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> I’m ready when Eddie wakes up the second time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ve eaten and napped a little, but not moved from my chair by his bedside. I’ve had hours to think about how I want this to go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His expression changes first, from calm and relaxed, into the slow twist of a grimace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hold his face again, gently this time, and stroke his cheeks with my thumb as his eyelids flick open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey.’ I smile. ‘It’s me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie flinches, trying to twist his head to check the cause of the pain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I tilt him back to me. ‘Just look at me.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike gets the nurse back in the room and she tweaks his pain relief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie tries to look again, confused at the unfamiliar face by his bedside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I tilt him back. ‘Just look at me.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His body hitches as he panics, but he doesn’t fight me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I rest my hand over the middle of his chest, where it’s fluttering erratically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Try and breathe, deep and even.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie makes a soft, negative sound at the back of his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You can do it. Here,’ I put his hand on my chest. ‘Match me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie focuses on my face and tries. I’m calm, only because I need to be and it starts to work after a couple of minutes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I did this once,’ I whisper, when Eddie’s calm enough to become distracted again. ‘When you came to visit. I think it was at Christmas. We were together on the couch, and I synced our breath while you were asleep and hoped that when you went back to the future, we’d still be linked. Through all those years, even though I couldn’t see you or speak to you, or knew what you were doing, that it was a way we could be together.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie starts to cry again, slowly, like the drops of a trailing cloud left behind at the end of a thunderstorm. I swipe them away as soon as they fall, not letting them touch the skin of his cheek, not really there if they don’t stick the landing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You told me that already.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I smile. ‘Just testing your memory.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re the one that forgot,’ Eddie bitches, no real energy for bite in his voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I laugh wetly, amazed at his strength. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He makes a fist, clenching my sweater in place. ‘I went to Neibolt.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod, devastated at the confirmation. I try to smooth his eyebrows back into place and off the knife edge his forehead has folded itself into. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I did something stupid.’ Eddie’s face caves in on itself in pain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eds, you did something brave.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shakes his head as I nod mine, a non verbal argument. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How bad is it?’ He asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you wanna look?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hold his left arm steady and draw a line an inch above his elbow, mirroring where the bandages curve around themselves on his right arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods resolutely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You might have some shoulder damage, most likely muscular. They won’t know for sure until you’re moving around. And you lost a lot of blood, you’ve been unconscious for most of the day. Everything else seems okay.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘My feet?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Your feet are fine.’ I lean down and squeeze one as Eddie curls and uncurls his toes, sighing in relief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Was it Pennywise?’ I ask. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both our eyes slide shut at the admission. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He was going to kill me,’ Eddie continues, drawing a line down my chest with his finger. ‘The claw.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stop his hand around my navel. Pennywise would have split him in two with one of those things. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I pushed myself out the way, but I wasn’t quick enough.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod, unable to process speech, as my brain runs wild with the unspeakable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s face is creased in a way I can’t read. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you still in pain?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘A bit.’ I pull away to get the nurse back, but Eddie stops me. ‘I don’t want to pass out again. Where were you before?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I was getting coffee with Stan. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here, I never left, I promise.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It was my fault,’ Stan says, standing up on the other side of the bed. ‘I made Richie leave, he didn’t want to.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie stares at him, confused. ‘What are you doing here?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I got a flight, as soon as I heard.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie glances between Bill and Mike. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We’ve been here too,’ Mike says, placing his hand over Eddie’s leg. ‘We’re so glad you’re awake.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie nods, catching his right arm in his peripheral vision. His chest jumps again, as I cling to his hand, still pressed against me. He looks at me and slows his breathing down, all by himself. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Thursday 8th January 2026 (Richie is 49, Eddie is 49)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I’m eating dinner, waiting for Richie to call me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stayed overnight with me the first couple of days, but now he leaves when visiting hours end. More accurately, he gets kicked out. I don’t think he’d have left at all if he wasn’t forced to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hear him in the mornings, way before visiting hours start, trying to charm the nurses into letting him early. It doesn’t work, but it helps me to know he’s there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My phone vibrates, but I miss the call, trying to juggle my food tray to the side so I can lean over to pick up the phone. Richie calls me back straight away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m greeted with Nova’s nose filling the screen and sniffing aggressively.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey Eds, look who it is.’ He tugs her back so I can see properly, and she can see me. She whines, trying to lick the screen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey sweetie.’ I smile, the pull of my mouth feeling fake on my face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘She misses you,’ Richie says, framing himself. Nova reappears, panting by his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I saw Richie less than an hour ago, but seeing him at home like this makes me miss him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey Nova, wave. Show me wave,’ I say, as she raises her paw half way to her face a couple of times. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Good girl,’ Richie and I tell her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘She’s going for a big run with Mike tonight.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Lucky.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Think he’s missing you. Getting slow without the old whip snap Kaspbrak on his heels.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie laughs as I try to hide how gutted I am that I won’t be able to run anymore, not like I used to anyway. Now I’ll be slow and lopsided.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We’ve fallen into this new routine so easily, where Richie calls me as soon as he gets home, and I watch him make dinner so we can eat together, while he rambles about music and movies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We’ve spent all day together, so I wouldn’t mind if he wanted some space. I’ve spent so much of my life on my own that I could entertain myself, but I think Richie needs this more than I do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We watch a movie together, Richie’s laptop pointed at the TV and connected to my tablet, so we can keep each other in view on our phones. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I tune the film out after a while, thinking about the news we got today. That I’ll be going home this time next week if there are no setbacks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My shoulder is badly sprained but responding to therapy, and my strength is coming back after all of the blood transfusions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m still fighting with the doctors about a prosthetic arm. They bring a new proposal to me every day, ignoring my arguments. The last thing I need is to become reliant on something I can’t take with me when I travel. But they don’t seem to want to hear it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie sits silent in the corner during these discussions, not contradicting or backing me up, which means he’s not convinced I’m making the right call but doesn’t want to say it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s excited about me coming home, but I’m dreading it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once I’m home, all of this becomes real. It’s something I have to face head on every day until this ends. And it will end, sooner or later, when I get stuck somewhere dangerous that I can’t escape from, now I’m useless at picking locks and climbing. Now that I’m slow and damaged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The day I go home will be the start of the end. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Wednesday 21st January 2026 (Richie is 49, Eddie is 49)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> Eddie’s release from hospital gets delayed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He jumps, three days into the future before his stitches have fully healed, waking me up in the middle of the night. He jumps back almost straight away, before I can get him back to the hospital, but the damage is done.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not as bad as the first time, but his scar will be worse from the new stitches, needed to rebind the skin over half formed scar tissue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m in the waiting room of the hospital now, waiting to take him home as soon as he has the all clear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t want a fuss, but I’ve got plans for us, lunch at his favourite Mexican place and a call with the Losers tonight. We’ll go on a dog walk this afternoon maybe or watch a movie, whatever he wants. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s going to be torture, waiting all day until I can drag him to bed. That’s all I really want today, to fall asleep with him safe between my arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He walks out of his room, resolve coming off of him in waves. I take his bag, thanking the doctor that’s walked him out and I drive us both home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike’s waiting in the garden, keeping Nova preoccupied. He has to hold her back from running at us, her limbs unable to contain her excitement at seeing Eddie again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He goes straight towards her, laying down in the grass so she can say hello. He grimaces as she jumps all over him,  bumping his arm as she oscillates between licking his face and spinning over him. I kneel down, gently stopping her every time she comes near his injured side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes almost twenty minutes for her to calm down and lay across Eddie’s chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I ruffle his hair, making him open his eyes slowly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You wanna go to Mercado for lunch?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shuts his eyes, expression closed off. ‘Will they deliver?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah.’ I glance at Mike, who shrugs at Eddie’s nonchalance. ‘You staying for lunch?’ I ask him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If that’s cool?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, of course.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie lies completely still, silence washing over us. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s quiet while we eat, looking around the house like he’s never been here before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He never seemed enthusiastic about coming home, but he deflates even further when Mike leaves after lunch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you feeling okay?’ I rub his back, where he’s hunched over on the couch. ‘Do you need to go back in?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No. Just- stop fussing.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wasn’t, but I read between the lines and give him some space. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nova takes my spot next to him, resting her head close to Eddie’s knee, waiting for a head rub that he never gives her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I may need to adjust my expectations. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie doesn’t seem at all ready to slot back into our life where we left off. I don’t want to admit it, but I probably should have expected this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie slinks off to the bedroom without an explanation, leaving me to question how we move forward from here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I call the Losers on my own that night, and curl around a pillow in the spare room, alone except for the dog, asleep at my feet. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Monday 9th March 2026 (Richie is 50, Eddie is 49)</span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> Eddie barely talks to me anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The most time we spend together is the daily drive to his therapy sessions, sometimes physical, sometimes mental.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He never talks to me afterwards, so I don’t know how he’s progressing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes he slides back into the car, muscles clenched in pain and refuses to accept any of the small amount of comfort I could give him, and sometimes he just looks small and sad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I know I can’t fix this in any meaningful way, but I want to be a soft place for him to land when he needs it. But he’s not letting me do anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It quickly spiraled once he was home. I know every single thing is difficult for him with one arm, but it feels like he’s given up. It’s the opposite to how I thought he’d approach this. All his determination and drive has gone, seeped out of him along with the blood loss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nova doesn’t understand what’s happening. She’s reluctant to leave without him when we walk, and spends hours sat outside the closed bedroom door, waiting for him. He won’t let either of us in there most of the time. We haven’t slept in the same bed since before the accident. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the thing that scares me the most is that he’s stopped running. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t know how to fix this for him and it’s slowly killing me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I thought it was bad when we were separated, but this is a whole new type of torture. Living together as strangers. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Friday 4th February 1994 (Richie is 17, Eddie is 49)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I’m pissed off, waiting in the clearing for Richie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jolting out of the blue and into the freezing cold always puts me in a bad mood, but the weather, coupled with my last visit to Richie, has me seething. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t want this to end like this, while everything is ruined in the present. I don’t want to sit here and write the letters that set in motion the events of 2026, but I know I have to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie appears over the ridge, happy to see me. The wind catches the hat he throws me and it veers off course, landing sadly on the ground away from both of us. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I try to calm myself, so I don’t fuck this up more than I have to, but Richie reads me like only he can and moves to comfort me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t fucking come down here, Richie. I swear to you, don’t move.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He protests and we argue, but he leaves and brings me the writing supplies I ask for. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I make him wait up at the house, not sure I can go through with this if he’s watching me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I never saw Richie’s letter. It got lost in the chaos, but he told me the gist of what it said. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Richie,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tonight (2nd Jan 26), during dinner, I travel and come back injured. I reappear in the kitchen not long after I leave.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You and Mike perform first aid and take me to the hospital.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You’ll need the following:</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tourniquet</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Medical grade gauze and bandages</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Blanket</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m so fucking sorry I have to ask you to do this. You save my life and I love you. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Eddie </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I angle my face away so I don’t smudge the letters with my tears. There’s so much more I want to say to him, but I don’t have time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I write my own letter quickly, sealing them both in the bigger envelope as Richie appears over the lip of the clearing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s confused when I hand the envelope over, the hurt from thirty years in the future is pinging back and forth between us now, in a toxic feedback loop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie promises to keep the letters safe, just like I know he will. I smile, waiting until he mirrors me, a momentary reprise. I know I won’t be here long, but maybe we can end this visit on a good note.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s face turns, his eyebrows knitting together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eds, your coat.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I turn away in a panic, willing myself out of the past before Richie overrides my advice and sees something he can never, ever unsee. And for once, it works and I vanish.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Sunday 5th April 2026 (Richie is 50, Eddie is 49) </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I blink against the bright spring sunlight, back in my bed in the present. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My hand shakes as it covers my mouth, stifling the noise of pain I make against my will. I’ll never see Richie like that again and I didn’t get to say goodbye. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just like the summer of 1992, he’s been ripped away from me against my will. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie pokes his head around the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey. Heard a bang.’ He smiles, face unbearably soft. ‘You okay?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pull my knees towards my chest to cover myself, angry that he’s interrupted me, angry that he got a proper goodbye and something nice to hold onto for a little while. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What happened?’ He presses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nova follows him inside the room and rests her head on the edge of the bed, staring at me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Nothing.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie swallows. ‘You don’t have to tell me, you just look… really upset.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I want to kick him out, so I can deal with this and wallow on my own, but the pain of the moment overrides me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I just wrote those fucking letter, that’s what’s happened.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh Eds, fuck, I’m sorry.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That was the last time I’m gonna see you like that and it was shit, everything's shit.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie shuts the door, moving towards me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t- just, fucking don’t.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sways, pressing his back against the door frame. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You got something nice,’ I continue, raging through tears. ‘And I got a fucking mess, I always get the short fucking straw. You got visits from your best friend after I left Derry and I got nothing, I was alone.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I tried. Eddie, I tried so hard to find you-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘But you didn’t. I still have no-one. I leave and you get visits from Stan and help from Mike and I get fucking nothing. And you have the fucking gaul to complain about how hard it is for you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie covers his mouth, distraught.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The silence is almost worst than when I was speaking. We sit in it for a moment, separate in our grief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I watch Richie get control of himself from the corner of my eye, thinking long and hard about how he’s going to respond. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I can do. Please tell me, Eds, I want to be here for you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Be here with that pity fucking look on your face, you mean?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I look at him properly, both hating and loving how hurt he is as I twist the knife. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His voice is so soft it almost breaks me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s not pity, Eds. Tell me what to do, I don’t know what to do to help you.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stare out of the window. ‘Nothing. There is nothing you can do.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie sobs, the noise of it catching in his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Now fuck off and leave me alone.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bed dips next to me, rage courses through me. I’m ready to shout at Richie for ignoring me, but it’s Nova, Richie’s shut her in with me by mistake when he closed the door. She’s jumped up to sit with me, comfort me, but I can’t control myself and I explode at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Get the fuck off the bed, I don’t want you in here!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My head swims with regret as her ears drop flat and she hurries to climb down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie reappears in the doorway, letting her out. He’s so angry he’s calm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t care what’s happened,’ he whispers through gritted teeth. ‘I don’t care if you’ve lost your feet. You never talk to her like that. You say whatever you want to me, but she is off fucking limits.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I know I crossed a line, but I want to argue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are we done?’ I sass back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stares at me. ‘I don’t know. Do you want to be done?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes,’ I lie, knowing we’re not just talking about ending the conversation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re lying.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m not,’ I yell. ‘Take a hint.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You take a hint,’ Richie yells back. ‘Take a hint that I’m not done.’ His voice shatters. ‘I want to grow old with you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You can’t, I’m not getting old.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What is this? Are you telling me something, for real?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m trying to fucking help you, Richie.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Help me with what?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Get over me. Have an easy break once this is over.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What are you saying? You what? You die next year? This is what you’re telling me? This is how you wanna fucking tell me that?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie reads my silence as confirmation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck you. I don’t believe you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sorry for you loss,’ I say, blandly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘This is how you wanna spend our last year together?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shrug, glancing over to see how upset he is. His face is red but not with hurt, just with anger. I thought he’d be beside himself, begging to hold me. But I’ve pushed him too far. He hates me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He opens the door, half stepping out. ‘Because it’s sure as shit not how I wanna spend it.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leaves me with the rattle of the door and a huge gaping hole where the offer of his comfort usually sits. </span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>*</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> I take Nova on a long walk. Neither of us hang around at the front door to see if Eddie will join us. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We’re both agitated from all the shouting and she pulls me along, picking her own route towards the park. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tumbles around on the grass, play fighting with another dog, the afternoon trauma already forgotten, while I sit and think. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I feel like Eddie’s bluffing and testing me, but I can’t be sure. I don’t think he’s telling the truth about what happens next year, but that doesn’t mean he’s wrong. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was being serious. Whatever time we have left, even if it’s as devastatingly short as a year, I don’t want to spend it like we have the past three months. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stop at a taco stand on the way home, eating on my feet and dropping pieces of chicken down to Nova as a pre-dinner snack for being so good at the park. I take a couple of tacos home for Eddie, in case he’s eating tonight. Even though I probably shouldn’t because of the way he’s acted, I can’t help myself from wanting to look after him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I want to talk to someone, to help clear my head, Stan, or maybe my parents, but I’m worried it’ll make things worse if it gets back to Eddie. I’m not even sure what I’d say. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I line up a little John Hughes retrospective, nostalgic and upbeat, to get me through the evening. I’m planning to fall asleep on the couch if I can switch off long enough. I can pretend I’ve fallen asleep here by mistake and avoid thinking about why I’m not sleeping in my bed with Eddie for yet another night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nova joins me, laying across my chest, her paws resting over my shoulders. I narrate the cultural significance of The Breakfast Club to her, highs and lows of the fashion choices and tales of my unrequited crush on Emilio Estevez.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m engrossed in the confession scene, so don’t notice it when Eddie joins us. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stands at the end of the couch, looking at the TV, pretending to watch. He’s been crying, his face and neck is purple, just like at the hospital. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tries to speak, to apologize, but his throat is too dry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nova twists around to watch him, her tail wagging. I shift her onto the floor and leave Eddie where he is for a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I peel his hand away from covering his eyes, so I can give him water. He drains the glass, leaning into the hand I rest on his shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What are you watching?’ He asks, knowing full well what the movie is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Breakfast Club.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Nova hasn’t seen it. She’s getting a John Hughes education.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I squeeze his shoulder and sit down. Eddie looks between us, bottom lip quivering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘She hates me,’ Eddie sighs, starting to cry again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nova’s laying down next to the couch, head low and unsure, her tail swaying slowly, happy to see him, regardless of what he’s done. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘She fucking loves you.’ I touch Eddie’s hip in invitation and he shuffles towards me. ‘She just doesn’t understand what’s happening.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie nods slowly, sitting sideways between my legs as I lie back down. He won’t look at me, still too upset for eye contact. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stays like that until the film finishes, then slowly looks over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I smile at him, a little one, that he returns. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If you apologize, she’ll forgive you,’ I say, standing up to put the next movie on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie waits until I’m laid down again to plank on top of me, knocking the wind out of me. I curl my arm around him, as he tucks his head into my neck and I want to scream at how good it feels to hold him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s lying on his injured arm so he can call Nova over and stroke her head in apology. He whispers to her, and she licks his cheek, all forgiven. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I rub his shoulder. ‘Does your arm hurt?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘A little.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I push us into sitting. ‘Have you put cream on today?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie shakes his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s meant to massage cream into the scar tissue twice a day to help it heal, but I don’t think he's been doing it. He’s not wearing the compression sock either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pull a tub out of the coffee table drawer. ‘Let me?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie nods and I roll up the sleeve of his t-shirt. The scar tissue is healing okay, although it isn’t pretty. But I will never, ever tell Eddie this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nova jumps onto the couch, sticking her head into Eddie’s lap and giving him something to do with his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I coat the end of Eddie’s arm with a thin layer of cream and gently rub in small circles, like the nurse at the hospital showed me. Eddie sighs and mirrors the movement of my hand behind Nova’s ears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘She’s so happy,’ I say, following Eddie’s gaze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ve missed her.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nearly sigh and bitch at him for denying all of us this, but catch myself before I ruin the moment we’re all balancing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I need to know if you were serious about next year. If you’re speculating or… if you’ve seen something.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t know for sure.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay.’ I take a moment to steady myself. ‘What makes you think something happens?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie shrugs, his arm rising out of my hands for a moment. ‘I’ve never been further forward.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What happened when you went to 2027? Something bad?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can’t talk about it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hold my tongue and focus on helping Eddie in the small way he’s letting me. I massage his arm much longer than I need to, kissing his shoulder when I’m done.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Where’s your sock?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Dunno.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I squeeze his neck and leave him to search the bedroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t need it, Richie,’ he shouts after me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I find it under the bed, stuffed into a ball inside a t-shirt that smells like Eddie wore it for a week straight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s rifling through the fridge when I slip it onto his arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can I eat this?’ He holds out the box of tacos. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, those are yours.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Did you get guac?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No. There’s an avo in the vegetable drawer though.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can’t make that,’ Eddie replies, dejected. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wiggle my hand and he hands me the ingredients and a knife. I chuck everything into the bowl he gives me, but he refuses to hand over the fork. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can mash it.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can, but the bowl slips around constantly, stopping him from picking up any rhythm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lift the bowl and slide a mat underneath, while Eddie stares at me for an explanation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s a gripped mat,’ I laugh. ‘Try it now.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie mashes and the bowl stays mostly put. ‘Don’t laugh at me,’ Eddie says, quiet and hurt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m not. Hundred percent not. Laughing at how seriously we’re taking gauc. I’m sorry.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can’t even wash my hair properly,’ Eddie says, voice remaining deep with pain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why?’ I touch his elbow, but he doesn’t look up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can’t hold the bottle and squeeze at the same time.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hadn’t thought of that. ‘I’m sure we can think of something.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What? Grow me a new hand or something?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s voice is dangerously low. I’d be scared by it if I didn’t know him so well. He’s embarrassed as much as hurt. I counter with softness, trying to win him back over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘By getting you new bottles, I’ll look into it.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Like you did with the mat?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I risk moving to his side and slipping an arm around his shoulder. He lets me, dipping a taco into the guac and inhaling it. I sneak some fish from the taco on the bench to Nova in deliberate view.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t give her that, I know she’s eaten.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I smile, delighted that he fell back into our familiar rhythm so easily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slaps my hand away from his food and nods at the mat. ‘What else have you done?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I put a bird feeder in the garden.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘So you’ll know it’s safe to come up to the house when you’re traveling. Guessing you don’t want to risk one of us seeing you pre-accident.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie’s stops eating, shocked. ‘Thank you.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘There’s one in the front garden too.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You've thought of everything.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hardly, didn’t think about shampoo.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You didn’t need to do any of it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Wanted to.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie stands still for a long moment thinking. We’re at a crossroads, where we can continue as we have been and self destruct, or we can work to get back what we had, or our new version of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Regardless, I need to lower my expectations even further. This is never going to be the same for Eddie. I could get him a thousand aids, but he’s never going to get his arm back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I tap his forehead. ‘Tell me what you’re thinking, no filter.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A pair of tears spill out and roll down his cheeks. ‘I think I’m depressed.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I rub my thumb over the vertebrae in his neck, while he gathers the courage to continue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s what the doctor thinks, anyway. They gave me some pills, but I didn’t take them.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You don’t want to?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can’t take them with me, Rich. I can’t be reliant on things like that.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod slowly, wanting to navigate this well worn excuse carefully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You think I should?’ Eddie continues. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘They helped me a lot. They still help me sometimes, and that’s okay. It’s okay to accept help if you need it, whatever form that might take. You might miss a few doses if you jump, and you might feel a bit of an imbalance until you come back, but overall it could help you. A lot of times you come here anyway, if we have extra pills in the house you wouldn’t need to miss a dose.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie nods, staring at his bowl of guac. ‘Why do we never have corn chips?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I reach behind me for the cupboard, where I know we have three packets stashed. I open one and place it on the counter. ‘You didn’t even look.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie eats, shoving chips into his mouth quickly and then chewing slowly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you depressed now?’ He asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t think so. Haven’t relapsed in a while, actually.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Pills helped you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Just pills?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I think about how to describe it, because it’s a complicated cross over of factors, not one magical fix. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We take turns scooping guac out of the bowl, a coordinated swing of hands moving around each other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You and Nova helped me a lot.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We fixed it?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, but you helped.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I dunno, it wasn’t a specific thing. I guess, the lifestyle we had, it was very different from when I was at my worst. We woke up every day and decided to live the life we wanted to. Every day we chose to be together. I had something meaningful to get out of bed for. That made a difference.’ I brush the hair out of Eddie’s eyes. ‘I still want this with you. Every day this year I’ve woken up and wanted this with you.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It won’t ever be the same.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s okay, I don’t need it to be the same. I put too much pressure on you when you came home.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie shakes his head in protest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, I did and I’m sorry. I misjudged this.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie sighs and rests his head on my shoulder. ‘I don’t even know where to start, Rich. I can’t do basic fucking things, let alone pick locks or climb properly. Sooner or later it’s gonna end, badly.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You can’t start out thinking like that. If anyone can relearn that shit it’s you. You’re so brave and resourceful, and fucking stubborn.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie shoves me playfully, wrapping his arms around my chest when I sway back to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can’t believe your talking like this is the end, like this has got the best of you. You climbed down a well with one arm when we were thirteen, it was basically an abseil. I couldn’t do it with two arms, I fell on my ass before I could get to the bottom.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie smiles at the memory, pinching my hip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you really gonna let Pennywise win and ruin this for us?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No,’ Eddie replies quietly, clinging to me. His chest hitches against mine in panic. ‘It’s so many steps to get back to where we were.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m not in a hurry. However we need to do this is fine, I just want to do it with you. I hate not talking to you Eds, not being with you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Some days I might not want to.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s cool. You’re gonna have bad days, but you’re gonna have good ones too, and everything in between. Just keep me in the loop.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I do want this, some days it’s just hard.’ He rubs his face against my shoulder. ‘I don’t want to not be with you.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That makes sense.’ I smooth my hands slowly up and down his back, leaning into the awkward sideways hug he initiated. ‘When you were in surgery, I didn’t know if I’d ever get to speak to you again. I can’t describe how painful that was, I felt… paralyzed and I’m just so happy that you’re here.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I thought that too, in Neibolt, when I watched you in the Deadlights. That it might be the last time I saw you. If I died down there you wouldn’t know.’ Eddie shivers in my arms. ‘I’d be stuck.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I rest my head over his, forming a protective cocoon. ‘That’s never happening. I’ll look for you. I’ll pull you out of Neibolt with my bare hands if I have to.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’d be long dead.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Doesn’t matter. I would never leave you down there alone.’ </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Monday 6th April 2026 (Richie is 50, Eddie is 49 &amp; 57)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> It’s the middle of the night and Eddie’s spooned up behind me in bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d followed me into the bathroom after we’d talked and we’d brushed our teeth together, side by side, my heartbeat erratic thinking it might be a sign he wants to sleep with me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d taken my hand, wordlessly leading me into our bedroom. He’d curled up behind me on his good side, sliding his other arm over mine and pressing his nose into the back of my neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m purposefully staying awake so I can enjoy this, unsure of how tomorrow will go, let alone the future. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hallway light clicks on, lighting up the strip of carpet at the bottom of the bedroom door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stay calm as the bedroom door swings open and I’m met with a familiar silhouette. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust and see him properly. He’s significantly older, with a mottled grey and brown beard and grey hair all through the sides. His eyes crinkle in unfamiliar and beautiful ways as he leans down and smiles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey.’ He wipes the tears off my face as I breathe deeply, trying to keep my chest from jumping and waking Eddie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He holds my chin and kisses me softly, rubbing our noses together as he pulls back. It’s the first time I’ve kissed him like this in months. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How old are you?’ I whisper, against his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fifty seven.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are we still…?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie smiles, kissing me again. ‘Yes.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I close my eyes in unmeasurable thanks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thank you.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He strokes my jaw as I sit with the moment of relief. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you doing okay?’ He asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I twitch my mouth to the side, to control myself before answering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m fucking this up.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You are not. Richie, I don’t know what you need to hear right now but you’re amazing. You’re my rock.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s so cliche,’ I laugh, wetly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know.’ Eddie bites his lip. He looks so relaxed, like a completely different man. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you okay?’ I ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, I’m okay. Physically, some ups and downs. Mentally, I’m in a better place.’ He kisses me, soft and intoxicating. ‘You just have the big argument?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It gets better from now on.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thank fuck. Should we wake Eddie so he can see you? He’s talking like he’s going to die soon.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, leave him. Tell him in the morning.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay. Yeah.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m gonna take Nova and sleep in the spare room.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No? What? Don’t leave. Tell me what to do next, Eds, I don’t know what to do.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re doing great.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m not.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Rich, you are. Don’t let me fall into bad habits. I need tough love.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you sure? You’re so vulnerable right now.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m tougher than you’re giving me credit for. You never accepted me giving up on something cause I was scared or upset when we were kids, why are you accepting it now?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’ve never been hurt like this before.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know, but I’m ready.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Wait.’ I tug Eddie down when he goes to stand. ‘Tell me something about the future.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He licks his lips, thinking, while I blink quickly, praying for something really good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We have three dogs at the moment.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh.’ I hold his hand against my cheek, kissing his palm. ‘Cute ones?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah.’ He eye rolls at my dumb as shit question. ‘One of them's a puppy when we get him.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh my god.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie kisses me quick. ‘Don’t tell me about that. That’s our secret.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thank you for everything.’ Eddie traces my bottom lip with his thumb. ‘I love you.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I watch him wake Nova, cuddling with her in the corner of the room for ages before they leave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lay awake and let my head tumble with the myriad of clashing emotions, trusting that I can move us forward without breaking this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I poke Richie’s shoulder to wake him up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rolls onto his back, half on top of me and cranes his neck to kiss my nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Morning.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How did Nova get out of the room?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie cranes back to look at the closed door, that Nova’s whining on the other side of. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He jumps up to let her in and she comes straight to the bed and looks at me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How did she get out of the room?’ I repeat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Get up and I’ll tell you,’ Richie says, weirdly chipper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No? I want to stay in bed.’ I pat the space next to me for Nova to jump onto. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We can go back to bed later. I wanna take you for breakfast and I’m fucking starving.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t want to go out,’ I say, feeling the bile rise up from my stomach as I talk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s going to take me ages to get ready, and then I’ll have to deal with eating one handed in public and people staring at me. No fucking thanks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie crawls onto the bed, smiling. I find his excitement infectious despite myself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Morning gorgeous.’ He kisses the dog. ‘And you-‘ He kisses my cheek up and down in a familiar line, finishing by my ear. ‘-Love of my life. You visited me last night.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What? From when?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie goes cross eyed doing math in his head. ‘Dunno, but you were fifty seven.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh.’ The relief builds in waves, each one bigger than the last. I let them wash over me for a moment. ‘What- What happened? Was I okay?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, you were doing okay. We’re both okay.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Good.’ I swallow. ‘Why didn’t you wake me?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You told me not to. You took Nova to the spare room to sleep, that’s why she was outside.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why would I take the dog?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie shrugs, crawling back off the bed. ‘You had a beard still, it’s all grey, looked very handsome.’ He whips the sheet off the bed, exposing me to the air. ‘Come shower so we can leave.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I bristle. ‘I don’t need you to wash me.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know. It’s purely for expediency.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I follow Richie to the bathroom, acting more put out than I feel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I told you to act like an annoying fucking dickhead then?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He steps into the spray, laughing. ‘Basically. You spoke very fondly of this morning.’ He leans out, peeling the compression sock off my arm gently. ‘You’re up.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I take him in while his back is turned, missing how easy this used to be for us, and how far away from that I still feel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stay in the doorway to the shower, stubbornness winning out. If I could get over myself I know I’d appreciate what Richie’s trying to do, but it’s too much of a concession right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He steps out, leaving the spray on for me. He stays in the bathroom, opening the tubs and squeezing the bottles, but otherwise I don’t let him help. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s ready long before me, dried and dressed, Nova’s lead ready, her walk bag packed. He calls my name, but I don’t reply, preoccupied by my useless body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eds?’ He peeks around the wardrobe door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tugs at the hem of the shirt that I’ve tried and failed miserably to button. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I said don’t.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wraps his arms around me instead, kissing my cheek. ‘I love you.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t,’ I reply, softer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I just can’t, help, falling in love, with you,’ he sings, sweet and soft next to my ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I tuck my arms around his hips, unable to make them meet behind his back anymore. ‘Why are you so good to me?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I dunno how else to be,’ he replies, with complete nonchalance. ‘Hey, why don’t you wear a t-shirt? No buttons.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I close my eyes, ashamed at my vanity. ‘None of them are long enough to cover it.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hmm, okay, what about a shirt over the top? Just leave it undone. You can borrow one of my shirts if you want, make it sexy.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Annoying when it flaps around.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay, I could help you do this one up?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pout, angling my face away from him. Nova walks in trailing her leash, impatient and uncaring about my problems. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stick my arms behind my back before I can change my mind. ‘Fine.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie does it quickly, bottom to top, resting his hands on my neck afterwards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Silver lining, wouldn’t be doing this if buttons were easy.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He drops a kiss onto my mouth, pulling away instantly incase I don’t want to reciprocate. I grab his shirt to hold him still and kiss him back properly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nova barks and Richie giggles against my mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You were promised a walk, huh?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes Nova’s lead in one hand and mine in the other and we leave the house. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Thursday 14th May 2026 (Richie is 50, Eddie is 49)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> I come home from therapy to a smashed jar of pickles on the kitchen floor and Eddie pacing in the garden. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s left a half made tuna mayo sandwich on the bench. I finish it, sans the pickles and take out to him with a glass of water. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks over when I open the patio door, turning away again in a dramatic flourish when he sees what I’m carrying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sit down at the table and start eating, waiting to see if he’ll join me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He waits a minute, then marches over, taking the half eaten sandwich out of my hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s mine.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Only half of it. I finished it.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hands me back my slice and starts on the other, making a point of drinking from the water glass first. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You okay?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighs, annoyed at himself. ‘I’m fine.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Did it slip?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie looks at me like I’ve revealed a new layer of stupidity. ‘I smashed it.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I raise him an eyebrow, which he returns. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Gotta be careful with glass, we have a dog.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie frowns, upset. ‘I didn’t let her get near it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know. I’m just being an asshole.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I checked her paws.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eds, I know.’ I cover his hand with mine. ‘Have you thought any more about the prosthetic?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie jerks his hand back. ‘Richie, I fucking swear-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sir,’ I interrupt, putting on my sales teller voice that he loathes. ‘May I have one minute of your time, Sir, just one minute. Don’t look at me like that Sir, I know you’re gonna love what I gotta say.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thirty seconds, you annoying prick.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thank you,’ I say, grabbing his hand and reverting my voice back to normal. ‘There are things it could help with that have nothing to do with time travel. When have you ever travelled and needed to open a pickle jar?’ I laugh at Eddie’s face, stern but cracking at the seams. ‘It’s just an option, Eds. You wouldn’t have to use it all the time if you got one. You’ve just written it off without even trying it.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’ll be so much work to get used to,’ Eddie counters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘So is learning to open jars with one hand.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie grins at me, the angry one where he hates what I’m saying, but knows I’m right. I’m taking his own advice and giving him tough love. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘My shoulder is still getting back to normal.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Best to get one while you’re still in therapy, then.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’ll look ugly,’ Eddie whines. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now we’re getting down to it. He’s never said that when we’ve argued about this before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’ll look cool. You can get one of those badass chrome ones or whatever.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Nothing about this is cool.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod, conceding the flippant use of that word doesn’t apply to Eddie’s amputation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You wouldn’t mind?’ He asks, vulnerable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nearly laugh at how absurd the question is, but the implication that he’s holding back because of what I might think cripples me. I flip his hand and thread our fingers together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I want you to have anything that helps you. I want you to be comfortable and happy, and able to do whatever you want. I want you to have pickles.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie laughs, pressure seeping out if his like an open valve. ‘It would cover the ugly scar at least.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s not ugly.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rolls his eyes, waving his arm at me. ‘There is no way you look at this and think it looks good.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wait a moment, wanting to be as clear as possible in communicating how I feel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Exactly,’ Eddie says, tucking his arm self consciously behind himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘When I look at you, especially when I look at your arm, I see the brave man who sacrificed something huge so that we could be together. I see the man I love, who put us before himself.’ Eddie squeezes my hand. ‘I’d trade places with you in a second if I could, but I can’t. I couldn’t care less about how it looks, I know you do, and that’s fine, but I only care if it causes you pain, or stops you from doing something, or makes you feel shit, because I don’t want that for you. You’re a fucking marvel Eddie, every fucking day that you get out of bed and do this with me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie blinks, looking across the garden at nothing. I didn’t mean to say all of that, it just fell out of me, but it’s the truth and I hope Eddie can feel that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulls his hand out of mine, tapping my palm. ‘I’m still hungry. Who makes one sandwich for two adult men, Richie?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You making the next one,’ I shout after him, as he leaves the garden. ‘No pickles on mine.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He flips me off, shutting the door behind himself to drown out my laugh. It wasn’t the response I expected, but I know that he’s heard me, loud and clear. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Wednesday 3rd June 2026 (Richie is 50, Eddie is 49)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> Eddie hangs back in the doorway of the community center. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ve been coming to the meetings without him since March. We’ve argued a lot about whether I should keep going without him. It pisses him off, but it’s not his call. It’s my group too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I keep telling him that he's not a cautionary whale and he has as much right to support as everyone else, but he’s terrified of scaring the kids. He’s given so much time to helping them, he’s more than earned the right to be here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I think he can show them all that things happen that you can’t control, but it doesn’t need to stop you from living your life the way you want to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His arm pulls tight between us as I go to move inside. He doesn’t follow but he  doesn’t let go of my hand either. I tug him again. We’re already ten minutes late, so we’ll be making an awkward entrance anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t think, just move,’ I tell him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mouth makes a straight, thin line, like the one we walk, through the doors and into the hall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone turns to look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jacob launches himself forwards and into Eddie’s arms, hugging him tightly. He’s been round to the house more than once to visit Eddie, but Eddie’s never come out to see him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I rub Eddie’s back while they whisper words of encouragement back and forth to each other, while the rest of the room waits their turn to hug him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There are a couple of new kids, that I’ve met but Eddie hasn’t. He frets about not being around to show them the ropes but he needn't have. He did such a good job that the older kids have taken over and looked after them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jacob sits next to Eddie, once he’s done the rounds and everyone’s ready to talk. Eddie’s braced himself for being the topic of conversation for this meeting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Richie told us you had to save yourself from being killed,’ Jacob says, in awe. ‘You’re so brave.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie shakes his head, embarrassed. ‘Richie’s exaggerating. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m not. Eddie’s brave as hell, he saved us both.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We’re really glad you’re doing okay,’ Jo, one of the parents responds. ‘We’ve missed seeing you.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re so lucky Richie was there when you came back,’ Karl, one of the new parents responds, rubbing their kids' shoulder protectively. ‘I worry about that all the time.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Actually, I wasn’t lucky,’ Eddie replies, the room hanging off his every word. ‘I told Richie what to do, I wrote him a letter when I visited him in the past.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s a bit dangerous, isn’t it?’ Karl replies, looking genuinely worried. ‘Couldn’t you make a time loop or something.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie smiles as the room collectively groans.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Those don’t exist.’</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Saturday 21st May 1994 (Richie is 18, Eddie is 49)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> The visits to teenage Richie don't stop, but I never let him see me again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s the third time I’ve been here since losing my arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I appeared on the edge of his bed a few minutes ago and had a mad scramble to get my arm out of his eyeline. I’m sat on the floor, my right side pressed against the bed frame as he blinks slowly, eyes adjusting in the dark to pick me out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Am I dreaming?’ He asks, slow and sleepy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes. Don’t wake up or I’ll disappear.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I miss you.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I glance at the calendar on his wall. It’s open to May, so it’s been two months since he last saw me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I press my thumb over his eyelids, smoothing them closed as he smiles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Stop it, I’m looking at you. You have a beard again.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Well, you’re dreaming, so I guess you liked it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, I dreamed you naked too.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My heart beats fast, hoping I can keep Richie like this, half asleep and dopey.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Get in bed with me.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shake my head, running my hand through his hair as he frowns. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I gotta stay here or you’ll wake up and I’ll vanish.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I miss you,’ he repeats, whine at the back of his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s why I’m here.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You don’t miss me too?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I do, of course I do, but I see you every day.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie sighs, frustrated that the life I’m talking about is so far away for me. It hits me, just like these moments always do when I least expect them, just how lucky I am to have this beautiful person in my life, my safe place to land. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Go back to sleep and I’ll stay here with you,’ I say, thickly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Promise?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I promise.’ I lean up, being very careful of the angle and kiss Richie’s cheek. ‘I love you,’ I say, close to his ear. ‘Every day in the future I think about you now and love you.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not true yet, but I can change that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You feel real,’ Richie whispers, catching my nose when he kisses me back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s cause you’re good at dreaming.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiles, closing his eyes at the feel of my hands in his hair and I make a note to do this with him when I go back. We haven’t done this in ages. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I twist around, when I’m sure he’s asleep, looking to see what’s changed in his room. He has a poster of the band we saw in Bangor on his wall, already dogeared on one of the corners. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lean back against the wall, a photo catching my eye, peeking out from behind the dresser next to me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pry it off the wall, the tape peeling off some of the wallpaper behind it. It’s a photo of Richie and I, similar to the one we have pinned to the fridge at home, from the summer of 1990. Richie’s laughing in the foreground, camera angled over his shoulder to catch me yelling at him for wasting a photo. The photo on our fridge was taken after this, of our faces smashed together as I tried to confiscate the camera. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I put it back in its home on the wall, looking closer. The entire wall is filled with photos of us. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Thursday 30th July 2026 (Richie is 50, Eddie is 49) </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I reappear, bang in front of Richie on the garden path. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wobble and trip over his feet, as he throws the iced coffee he was holding onto the grass to catch me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stare in shock until the giggles take over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hello,’ he giggles back. ‘Gorgeous man in my arms, don’t mind if I do.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I feel up the arm wrapped around me while we kiss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You good?’ Richie asks, his mouth tickling mine. ‘Go somewhere safe?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah.’ I pull him to the front door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eager. Didn’t get enough of me last night?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Shh, I’ll tell you about it in the bath.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘The bath? No, it’s too hot.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t care.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie bitches while I run the tub, right up until he’s reclined back against my chest and my hand starts carding slowly through the hair by his ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What have you been doing today?’ I ask. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Dunno. Can’t remember my name right now, let alone what I was doing.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can’t even do it properly,’ I say quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie leans back to look at me upside down. ‘This is perfect.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I scratch my fingers through the stubble on his chin, making him growl and press back into me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You saw me right? I did something nice for you and this is my reward?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Half way right. I saw you.’ I tilt Richie’s chin so we can look at each other again. ‘I still visit you in Derry.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie scrunches up, folding his limbs impossibly tight to sit sideways in the tub. He wraps his arm around me, looking upset.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I rest my head on his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t be, I just wasn’t expecting you to say that. How can that still be happening?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I visit you, but I don’t let you see me. Well, today you saw me, I showed up in your bedroom.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie stares, like he’s seeing me for the first time, confused and a little excited. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You thought you were dreaming,’ I finish. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes close, remembering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I go back to stroking his chin, until he’s ready to talk again. He wants to kiss me first, angle awkward, but the kiss blissful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You told me something about the future that night.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That I’m gonna think about you now, think about loving you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You do that?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m going to.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie bites his lip. ‘Remember when you told me you didn’t like romance?’ He laughs so hard a wave of water floods the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I wasn’t in love then.’ My heart skips a beat as the words tumble out of me. ‘I’m so fucking in love with you now.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie squints, like he’s looking at me through a bright light. ‘I know you’d don’t choose where you go, but you fucking know how to pick um.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I was there the day you left Derry.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s face falls. ‘Really?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, you went down to the clearing at the last minute. I could hear your Dad shouting for you to get back in the car. What were you doing down there?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie sighs. ‘I was looking for you. I was so sure you’d be there, to send me off. I’d been down there since breakfast waiting, but I j had to check one more time.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I was there, behind the garbage can by the back door. I couldn’t let you see me.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, I know.’ Richie smiles, impossibly sad, but hopeful at the same time. ‘It’s  just nice to know I was right.’</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Saturday 11th April 1981 (Eddie is 4 &amp; 49)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> It’s a warm day for April in Maine, so I’m sunning myself in the park. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ve had unreasonably good luck so far this morning, appearing in Bill’s back garden at sunrise and taking some of his Dad’s clothes, left out on the line overnight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a damp twenty dollar note in the front pocket of the slacks, which got me eggs and coffee with a handful of notes in change, that I’m contemplating spending on ice cream and a movie. It’s too early in time to go looking for Richie, but I’m thinking about him anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I know the park has some awful memories for him, but I’m keeping my promise and thinking about him, determined to sit here in the grass and make a good one for us both.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ll tell him about this when I go back, how I sat here, thinking of him and loving him, in defiance of what this town wanted for us.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Good day for it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I turn towards the man's voice, squinting in the sun. There’s a kind, handsome face staring back at me, a man a little younger than me. I blink, not believing my eyes for a moment. It’s my Dad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I only recognize him from photos, I don’t remember him at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sorry, startled you,’ he says, as I continue to stare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, no it’s okay,’ I say, scrambling up to stand with him. ‘I was away with it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s watching a boy a couple of metres away, whose crouching down every couple of inches to pick up flowers from the grass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That from the war?’ He asks, tilting his head towards the empty arm of my sweater. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Erm, yeah, yep.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dad nods stoically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Is that your son?’ I ask, only to see what he’ll say about me. Little Eddie Kaspbrak, collecting flowers in the grass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, that’s Eddie. Thought we’d make a day of it as it’s so nice outside.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m Eddie too. Edward.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Frank,’ he says, holding out his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We shake and time slows down for the brief moment we’re connected. He lets go and my brain spins, shifting through treacle to find something we can talk about to keep him from walking away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He’s a cute kid. What’s he doing?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He’s collecting flowers. We have a couple of birds nesting in our back garden, so he wants to give them something to decorate their nest,’ he says, rubbing the back of his neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s sweet.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We both watch Eddie, who rocks on his feet a little too fast, tumbling backwards into a roll. He looks up at Dad, seeing me too and decides to come waddling over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hides behind Dad’s legs, peeking out. There’s no tidy side part yet, his hair curls out of his crown and all over the place. I mentally laugh at the outfit, dark green athletic shorts, pastel green polo shirt, socks and pumps that no four year old should be able to keep that white. It’s the spit of something I wore just last week. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eddie, this is also Eddie,’ Dad says, breaking the ice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wave. ‘Hi Eddie.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘There can't be two Eddie’s,’ he says, frowning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sometimes there is,’ I tell him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s a special occasion when you meet someone with the same name,’ Dad tells him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie shuffles, checking in with Dad before holding his hand out to me, flower in his palm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thank you.’ I pop it behind my ear and Eddie giggles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’ll have to pick an extra one for the birds now,’ I say. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘O-kay,’ Eddie sing songs, walking off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You have kids?’ Dad asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No,’ I say, trying not to laugh. ‘I have a dog, not really the same.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Your wife can’t be happy with that,’ he laughs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I join in, not wanting to upset the moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Is she here?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No. I- I don’t have a wife.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I teeter on the knife edge of telling him. I don’t want to ruin this, but it could be my only chance of knowing for sure, knowing if he would have accepted me. I find my brave streak at the last moment, like I always do. ‘I have a partner, but he’s not here.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dad doesn’t miss a beat, curving his lip softly. ‘Oh. Right you are.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I clench my fist at my side in silent victory. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Not having kids would make things easier,’ he continues.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I raise an eyebrow in question as my Dad’s face drops.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Dunno why I’m telling you this. I’m not well.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks just like me, his jaw set and his eyebrows a hard line. If Richie were here, he’d try and smooth them out with his thumbs. But he’s not, and I’m a stranger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m so sorry, Frank.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I go to squeeze his shoulder at the same time he turns towards me, and just like that we’re hugging. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s completely overwhelming and all I can do is surrender to it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dad thumps me on the back, pulling away, embarrassed. ‘I apologize.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, don’t. My Dad died when I was young, I know how hard this is.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m worried about him, when I’m gone.’ He looks at Eddie, still tumbling around in the grass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nod, knowing there’s nothing we can do to fix this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I could tell him who I am, try and convince him that time travel is real. Even on the off chance I succeed, I’d be leaving him with the devastating knowledge that I had no memories of him before today. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Was there anything that helped you?’ He asks, as Eddie walks back over, tucking flowers in between the Dad’s shoelaces. He lifts him up, after some trouser leg tugging, kissing Eddie on the cheek, as he gets eye to eye with the big men. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘My friends helped a lot,’ I say. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘My best friend is Bill,’ Eddie chimes in, smiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I smile back. ‘He sounds like a great best friend.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘His best friend is his brother Georgie,’ Eddie says, clinging to Frank's neck. ‘But I don’t have a brother.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Huh, me either,’ I say. ‘Must be an Eddie thing.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie giggles, unconsciously pressing his cheek against Dads. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dad has a soft but sad look over his face, as he clings to this precious moment, something to remember until he goes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I didn’t remember it for decades, but I have this now, proof that my Dad loved me then and would love me now, if he were still able to be here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Who is your best friend?’ Eddie asks, kicking his legs in the air impatiently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I smile at his small inquisitive face and tell him his future. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘His name is Richie.’ </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Monday 31st August 2026 (Richie is 50, Eddie is 49)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> I come home from therapy, feeling pretty good about things. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I feel like Eddie and I are making real progress with this new way of living. We both still have bad days, but they are slowly getting further apart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m trying my best to focus on him coming back to me when he’s not here, and not on what might be happening on the other side. It’s how I’ve spent the morning, after I woke up without him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I look around when I get back to the house and find Eddie sat on the couch. He’s multitasking, crying and making weird noises, while eating ice cream straight out of the tub and letting Nova lick his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are we breaking up or something?’ I ask. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie spins around to face me, grinning as he licks the spoon clean. ‘I saw my Dad.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What?’ I say, feather light. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘My Dad, he was at the park with me when I was little.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I drop my bag and sit on the couch behind the dog, distracting her from the ice cream that Eddie’s abandoned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fucking hell, did you speak to him?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He spoke to me- He- He thought I was injured in vietnam.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Holy shit.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shuffle Nova onto the floor so I can get closer to Eddie, pulling him half into my lap. I stroke his shoulders as we grin at each other in disbelief. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What else?’ I press, impatient. ‘Did he know who you were?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, but Rich-‘ Eddie turns his head to kiss my palm. ‘I came out to him. He asked if I had a wife and I told him about you.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hold my breath, wanting to trust that the exuberance on Eddie’s face means that Frank reacted okay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He said ‘Right you are’ and he didn’t walk away or anything, I mean- I don’t know for sure, but he would have been okay with this, right? Okay with me?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, of course he would. Yeah, he would.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I didn’t remember him before, at all. All I had was photos, but I have a memory now.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stroke Eddie’s cheek as he leans into my hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He was so good with me. I could tell that he loved me.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eds, I dunno what to say. This is amazing.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie cries, joy and relief bursting out of him in an infectious wave.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How old were you?’ I ask, when I feel like I can speak again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Four.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I squeak, biting my lip. ‘Cute!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I was pretty cute.’ Eddie giggles. ‘I had little green shorts on, like the ones I wore last week that you liked.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I laugh, picturing it, the world’s tidiest four year old. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I didn’t like there being two Eddies.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If only you knew!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Right! I talked about Bill, said he was my best friend.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I gasp, genuinely put out. ‘I hope you set him straight.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Told him my best friends name was Nova.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pinch Eddie’s cheek, hard. ‘You fucker. You picked the one name I can’t get mad at.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I did actually tell him about you. I cheated and told him the future.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Maybe that’s why you clung to me all through school. You knew that I was cool.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re the one who wouldn’t leave me alone!’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lean in for a kiss. It’s quick, as Eddie remembers something, his lips pull tight against mine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I think Dad had just been diagnosed. He got upset and told me about it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m sorry.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie shakes his head. ‘We waste so much time worrying about stuff that never happens. All this time travel shit, and look what happened to my Dad. He was younger than we are.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I kiss the corner of Eddie’s mouth where it’s pinched tight in pain. ‘What are you saying?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I wanna do stuff, see stuff, and not when I’m traveling. With you. I’ve wasted so much time, worried about what I can’t do and not focusing on what I can.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie's face lights back up while he talks, today's gift of seeing his father turns into a gift for us both, that we can take into the future.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you listening to me?’ Eddie slaps my chest. ‘When’s our next road trip?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hold up my finger, close enough it makes him cross eyed, as I fish my phone from my pocket. ‘I know exactly what we’re doing for your birthday.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, I don’t mean now.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I smash my finger against his mouth as my call picks up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey, yeah, no I’m fine for the show today. Big favour though, can you find someone to cover for me from, er, Wednesday?’ I laugh at Sally’s exasperated tone. ‘I know, I suck. I will be so grate- Thank you. Yeah, I’ll be back the following Monday.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I risk a glance at Eddie, whose staring daggers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I gotta go. Yeah, see you this afternoon.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Richie-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No more wasting time.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We’re not going away for my birthday. I completely forgot yours.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘So? This is for both of us then. I’m like the Queen, remember? I get two birthdays.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie frowns, convinced, but only just. ‘Where are we going?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can I surprise you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ugh, I guess.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Come on Eds, you just saw your Dad, and your boyfriend wants to whisk you away on a saucy weekend for your- Our birthday. A big one. No fucking frowning.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie laughs as I shove him back on the couch so I can get up and start plotting in the office. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Where are we going?’ He shouts after me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You gotta trust me!’ I yell back. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Friday 4th September 2026 (Richie is 50, Eddie is 50)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I’m relaxing against Richie’s chest, both of us submerged in piping hot water. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He drove us out to the desert two days ago, to the same place we spent our last night on the road a decade ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The stars pop out against the purple and blue sunset, looking exactly the same as I remember them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m close to falling asleep, at peace but exhausted from the past couple of days of traveling and day hikes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie’s making a mess of my chest with his hand, stroking me with a sweet, soft tempo. I want both of his hands on me, but he’s preoccupied with the other, blowing bubbles for Nova, that she bites out of the air in twirls and spins. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘She’s gonna be sick if she eats anymore of that,’ I say, opening one eye to watch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s dog bubbles, it’s safe.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eat too much of anything it’ll make you sick.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie blows bubbles over the tub and Nova scrambles to get them, dunking her head in the water. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Idiot,’ I say, pushing her back and confiscating the machine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sorry sweetie,’ Richie says, smoothing Nova’s head fur into an apology mohawk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re falling asleep.’ He kisses my ear and rubs my tummy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m not. Looking at the stars.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie looks up, humming to himself and I wonder how much more hinting it’s going to take. When we got here I was sure it’d be on the agenda. But he’s been completely silent about the marriage topic and I’m starting to get fed up of waiting. The fact that we’re still just boyfriends seems intolerable to me recently. It doesn’t reflect how either of us feel about each other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you wanna do something for Halloween this year?’ He asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lean my head back, looking into the sky with him. ‘Dunno. I don’t want to make a big deal about my arm.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You could shave your head. Furiosa!’ He says, in a booming deep voice. ‘I’ll be Tom Hardy, obviously.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hmm, okay.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t know how we’ll top last year.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, last year was the best. I can’t believe it took us so long to dress her up as Scoobs.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can’t believe it took us so long to dress you up as Shaggy.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie laughs and I can’t help but join him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You know, we’ve never embraced the time travel theme.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I am not dressing up as Marty McFly.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie sighs dramatically. The idea has grown on me, but I’m gonna hold out on him a little longer before I give in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We’ve done Bill and Ted, I guess.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Let's think about it.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I do want to do something, so it’s not a year of completely missed milestones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What were you thinking about before?’ He asks. ‘You went all existential on me, I could feel it wafting off you.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Nothing wafts off me.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I press back, making Richie hum and tangle our legs together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Come on.’ He kisses my neck, in the spot I’ve told him is off limits in public.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sigh, mentally tumbling through my options. ‘I’m glad we did this. Came here, so I could make it up to you for missing your birthday.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You made it up to me last night alright.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hardly. We can’t even fuck properly in that stupid bed.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Last night says otherwise.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That wasn’t fucking, it was a sloppy sixty-nine.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It was great though.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stroke Richie’s chin, enjoying the flex of his jaw against my fingers. It was pretty great, messy and funny and drawn out, like Richie loves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Noted though,’ Richie says, biting my fingers when they get close to his mouth. ‘Next holiday, first thing I’m checking is the bed. Might use a travel agent. Ask them to give me a list of the best beds for fucking, don’t care what dives we have to go to, I’ll get you that bed. Only the best for my boyfriend.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I twist around so we can look at each other. He smiles, kissing me on the mouth, misreading the pleading look in my eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Or not. We don’t have to go anywhere else.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I want to. The journey wasn’t even that bad.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I like driving with you and Nova snoring in the back.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t snore!’ I flick water at his face, getting his glasses wet. ‘How long would it take us to get to Atlanta?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie slides his hand up to my shoulder, rocking us together in the water. ‘Really?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, if you think Stan would have us.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He might veto after hearing from Bev and Ben.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘They loved us being there. They're on the list too. We don’t do enough Uncle duty.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes, I love this, where else?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I kinda wanna go to Canada.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ooh, okay. Could be cold.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Wanna fuck you in a log cabin.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes, okay. Want me to fight a moose for you?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘A bear. And then cook me poutine, wearing only the apron.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh my god, that fucking apron. Okay.’ Richie laughs. ‘This is a stark contrast we’ve got going between visiting family and scenic fucking.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m thinking of Nova. There are beautiful walks in Canada.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can use that to sweet talk the travel agent. Why yes, I am creepily asking about beds for fucking, but have you considering helping my beautiful dog, who dreams of scenic walks in the snow.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I laugh, slapping his face. ‘I’m booking the next place. I don’t trust you with the bed situation.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I did alright with everything else, right?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s an edge to Richie’s voice that tells me he’s genuinely not sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘This is perfect. Rich, you couldn’t have picked a better place.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We kiss, soft and slow, just like the last time we were here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Is Chicago on the list?’ Richie asks, when we pull apart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, let's do Chicago next.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can’t promise anything about the bed.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh my god.’ I stand up, leaving Richie to laugh at his terrible joke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He dunks himself under the water, before following Nova and I to our caravan under the stars. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Monday 7th May 2085 (Eddie is 50)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Eddie:</b>
  <span> I know immediately that this is different to the other times I’ve travelled to the future. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I appear in the middle of the street, but no-one looks at me twice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I start walking, trying to place myself. I’m in LA still, possibly Burbank. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘There’s a clothing store a few doors up that has stuff for travelers,’ a passer by tells me, pointing in the direction I’m walking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thanks,’ I reply, a little dumbstruck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I find the store and route through the bin of offseason clothes they have at the back of the store. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you need the date?’ The clerk asks me, as I hurry to leave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, actually I do.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘7th May 2085,’ they say, matter of fact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Is that bad?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, it’s fine.’ I try to school the panic off my face. ‘Is there a thing like this for food? I don’t have any money.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Try the cafe across the street. They have a pay it forward scheme.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How does that work?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You buy an extra meal and they pass it on to the next person who needs it, to the homeless mostly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I thank her and try my luck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m seated by the window with a coffee and a really delicious burger, as I consider my next move.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m far enough forward to be sure that both Richie and I are dead. I’ve thought about this before, whether I’d look at our death records if I had a chance, but never settled on a decision. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever it says, I could never take it back. If it was bad, happening soon in the present, I wouldn’t tell Richie, but I don’t know if I could hide it from him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But if it’s okay and we still have time together, it could really alleviate some of the raw edges of what we’ve both spent years worrying about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s the biggest round of Russian Roulette a time traveller can play. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I find a library a few blocks away, which I think is my best bet for looking up obituaries. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The building’s older than a lot of the others on the street, but looks modern to me. There are shelves of books still, spanning back into the building, and  huge pods of mounted screens spread throughout. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I enquire at the service desk, confirming they have death records dating back a hundred years, and computers on the third floor with the records. If we died in California we’d be listed here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But they turn me away. I learn that you need an ID to access them, since the change of law in 2044, specifically to stop time travelers gaining access to this type of information.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I walk away from the library, the decision made for me. It’s the sign I need, that this is a terrible idea. No-one knows in advance when they’ll die, or how they’ll go. Richie and I just need to get over ourselves and deal with this like everyone else does. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I search for inspiration for how to spend the rest of the day as I walk. I could watch a movie, or find some new music. I could visit an electronics store and see what’s on TV. I should try to experience something that won’t exist in my normal lifetime, make the most of being here.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I walk towards a mall, which I’m hoping has a movie theatre inside, when I pass a familiar door, almost tucked away under an awning. I peer through the slim glass window at the lockers inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I go inside and stand in front of the one that used to be mine, my fingers hovering in the air before I try the code. The lock clicks and the door swings open a crack. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There are clothes inside, nicer ones than I’m wearing, and money in a soft white envelope that’s floppy with age. Tucked into the corner of the envelope is an ID. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s fake, all of the details are different, but the photo is me. It’ll get me into the database at the library. There’s a post it note stuck to the back of the card, instructions in my own handwriting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Just look at the first paragraph.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I quickly change clothes, pocketing the rest of the locker contents and rush back to the library. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Saturday 10th October 2026 (Richie is 50, Eddie is 50)</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> It’s midday and I’m still in bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m texting Stan to amuse myself. He doesn’t know that the only time I’ve moved today is to pee and feed Nova.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s on the floor by the bed, fed up with me for being useless. I was doing so well with Eddie’s disappearances, but this one has hit me hard. He hasn’t even been gone long, just since yesterday afternoon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stan figures it out and threatens to call Mike to check on me, when I refuse to tell him my plans for the day. My only plan is to lay here sulking until Eddie comes back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m so preoccupied I don’t hear him until he whips the covers off my head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you sick?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No,’ I pout, sticking my face into his naked tummy to inhale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes the phone out of my hand, tutting as he scrolls through the chat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We wrestle as he tries to pulls out of my arms to deal with Nova. He succeeds, rolling her onto the floor in a big, panting hug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why are you crying, you big softie? Eddie asks, as Nova weaves all over him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Didn’t know if you were coming back.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Richie, you’ve seen me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Got scared.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie crouches, level with me. ‘Have you walked her?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s gone midday.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sorry,’ I say, hating the way my voice sounds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Alright big dick, in the shower. I need one too. Gotta something to tell you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tell me now.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I would if you hadn’t been moping. I’ll tell you when we get to the park. Come on, you’re washing my hair.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Richie:</b>
  <span> Nova pulls us along to the park in record time, dragging fresh reams of guilt out of me with every excited wiggle of her bum. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s playing her favourite game while I watch from the sidelines, where Eddie disappears behind the trees and Nova has to find him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moments between Eddie disappearing and Nova chasing him out the other side feel slow motion, like I’m watching a knife fall to the floor, not sure if I’m quick enough to move my toes away in time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m spiraling when Eddie comes back to me, sweat dripping down his neck. He’s flushed and happy, and I hate him for a moment for being so positive about all this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re in a bad way, huh?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I look away, squinting. I didn’t bring my sunglasses and I’m sat at a bad angle for the cap I’m wearing to protect me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You wanna hear the thing?’ Eddie says, sitting down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nova noses through the dog bag and drops her tennis ball between us. Eddie picks it up, slotting it into the plastic ball launcher so he can throw it for her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I went to 2085.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I whip back around, nose colliding with Eddie’s hand, as he’s tucking a flower behind my ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘And that’s a good thing?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie grins, big and wide, and I need to squint again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We’re dead right?’ I ask. ‘2085, no way I live to be a fucking hundred. Ha! I mean you might be. Are we? Dead? We’re dead, right?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, we’re dead. Stop saying the ‘D’ word.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Never thought you’d have to say that, huh.’ I say, flat. There’s no punchline to this conversation, whatever way it goes. ‘You looked? Would they even let you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, they wouldn’t. It's been illegal to look at the records without an ID since 2044.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘So you’re guessing we were dead? I mean, it’s a founded guess-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Shut up a second.’ Eddie flicks my cap brim out of the way so he can kiss me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t want a consolidation kiss.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Good,’ he frowns. ‘That’s not what that was.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nova barks, so I throw her ball, further than usual, propelled by my hatred of this conversation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I left myself a fake ID, in the locker I have in Burbank.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That was still there?!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, don’t let me forget to set it up long term.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t let you forget because you don’t have much time left?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, will you shut up being morbid. You know, no-one else gets this kind of information gifted to them.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘So you did look?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes, I looked.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t want to know.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Even if it’s good news?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Well it’s not, is it? Otherwise you would have told me at the house. You’ve brought me out here so I can’t make a scene.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie rubs my knee. ‘The only reason I didn’t tell you at the house is because of Nova.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He scratches her chin as she waits patiently for the ball to be thrown. Eddie can’t comfort me and throw at the same time anymore, so I take care of the ball. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t know what’s gotten into you today-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m not allowed to have a bad day now?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie laughs. ‘Of course you are. Christ, I thought this was gonna be romantic.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pull up the handful of grass I’m murdering in my fist and sieve through it, picking out a flower. I try and tuck it into the crease between his eyebrows, but it doesn’t stick. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Idiot,’ he says fondly, popping it behind his ear so we match. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nova barks on the other side of the field, tussling with another dog that’s stolen her ball. Eddie runs after them, leaving me alone with a sick feeling into my bones. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He comes back with her, telling her to sit with me. She does, head resting on my leg so I can play with her ears. Eddie goes back to rubbing my knee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m gonna tell you the decade.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Who dies first?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie stares, tongue stuck to the side of his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Who dies first,’ I repeat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes a deep breath, confirming everything I need to know. ‘I do.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I fucking knew it.’ My voice is dark and angry. ‘I don’t need to hear anything else.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s three days before you, Rich. That’s it, that’s all you gotta do. Three days. They probably have a shared fucking funeral for us.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Good.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Great.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I bubble over, laughing and crying at the same time. The only thought clear in my mind is my own stupidity at not bringing my sunglasses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can do three days. I guess.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie laughs, he’s crying too. ‘I’m gonna tell you the decade.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I groan into my hands. ‘I’m gonna hate it.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tell me the date.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, I shouldn't be telling you any of this. I shouldn't have looked. It’s so fucked up knowing this stuff, Richie. I was so nervous the whole time I was looking.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘But you know?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, and it’s gonna make things difficult for me in the ‘60’s, which is the decade we die.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘2060?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My brain stutters in shock, trying to work out how old we’ll be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Richie? Hey, Richie?’ Eddie waves in front of my face. I can see it, but all I can do is blink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How old?’ I blurt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We’re in our eighties.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh fuck. That’s... Thirty five years. I get another thirty five years with you?’ I say, hyperventilating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, Rich. Who the fuck thought we’d make it to our eighties?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How do you know we’re still together?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie rolls back in the grass with laughter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I kick him. ‘What?!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Look at the state of us both. Who the fuck else am I gonna be with? You’re the love of my life.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie kisses me, stroking the corner of my mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s more time than we lost,’ I whisper against his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know. We always thought Pennywise was a curse, but maybe it’s this.’ He giggles, trying to make a joke out of something very unfunny. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s definitely Pennywise. What else did you find out?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I looked at the first line of my obituary. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘He was survived by his dashingly handsome husband, Richard Tozier.’</span>
  </em>
  <span> I wonder what chuckle fuck wrote that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I only get three days to mourn you and I gotta fit a comedy routine into your obituary?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No,’ Eddie groans. ‘We’ll write them together before I go. You’re dreaming if you think I’m letting someone else write yours, I don’t care that I’ll be dead. Also, you’re kind of missing the point of what I just told you.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie bites his lip while the wheel of confusion spins inside my head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Have you got another question you wanna ask me?’ He presses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are your feet okay?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes! Oh my god, Richie, ask me the question.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I replay our conversation, finally catching on. This is not how I’d thought this would go, in the middle of the dog park, my eyes red from crying after spending the morning in a depression funk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why do I have to ask?’ I sulk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Because… you’ve been waiting for so long, while I dragged my heels. I’m beyond ready. Lets go.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m not asking you like this. Look at the state of me.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You look fine.’ Eddie laughs. ‘This is perfect. It’s my favourite place, with my favourite person.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘And dog.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie eye rolls, climbing into my lap and pushing me back. ‘And dog.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re sure? If you turn me down, I’ll never recover.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie kisses me, hard, collapsing on top of me to lick into my mouth possessively. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hold him up when he pushes back, to counter his lopsided weight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t want a consolidation kiss,’ I say, finally calm and staring down the barrel of what we’re about to do, of the life Eddie’s confirmed we get to have together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If you think that’s what that was, I can’t help you.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lean up, kissing him softly in apology. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Please ask me, I don’t wanna ruin the future.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My knees go weak at him begging for something I’ve wanted for so long. I would have married him the day I turned eighteen if I could. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Eddie Kaspbrak, Eds the first, the last, the one and only-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Richie-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I laugh at the creases his face makes as he bitches at me, propped up with his head haloed by the sun, casting me into shade. Maybe this is perfect. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Marry me?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes. Yes, please.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay,’ I nod, tilting my head to accept his kiss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eddie peels with laughter, shouldering me in the chin, when Nova tries to join us, licking our noses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Careful.’ I swallow. ‘Fiance.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grins, kneeling up and flexing his back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That was easy.’ I say, in awe of his strength as he helps me to my feet. ‘We should have done this the second we left Maine.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s all good.’ He shrugs, linking out arms. ‘We’ve got time.’ </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Warnings: vomiting, blood, limb amputation (arm), amateur first aid,  surgery recovery, arguments, discussions of depression, discussions of death</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Eddie: Richie’s going to murder me. </p><p>I was about to text him, to apologize for missing the wedding, but I couldn’t find the words quick enough and now I’ve missed my chance.</p><p>There’s carpet under my hands and knees. I’m alone at the end of a long corridor, with doors on both sides. I try my luck, hoping one of the doors will be unlocked, they all have swipe card entry, so I have no chance of picking my way inside. </p><p>I’m halfway down the corridor when someone slides into my peripheral vision from a couple of doors down. </p><p>‘Eddie. Thank fuck, you’re back.’</p><p>It’s Mike. </p><p>Bill slides out behind him as I cover myself. </p><p>I wonder if I can get away from them if I start running. Mike is fast and they’ve already seen me, so I decide against it, but I have no fucking clue how to explain this to them.</p><p>‘Oh crap.’ Bill rubs his mouth. ‘That’s not our Eddie.’</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>'E' rating is for Chapter 4 onwards, so this chapter is rated 'E' :)</p><p>~</p><p>The end of this chapter deals with a peaceful death in old age. There are more details in the end of chapter notes, they contain spoilers so I haven't put this information in the tags.</p><p>If you are not in a place to read this part of the story, you can stop reading before the 'Thursday 8th February' entry and the story will still have a fulfilling ending.  </p><p>~</p><p>Thank you to everyone whose read along or commented as I've been writing this. It's been such a positive aspect of my life over the past year and I hope it's brought a little bit of reprieve to anyone that's needed it.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Saturday 18th September 2027 (Richie is 51, Eddie is 44 &amp; 51)</p><p><b>Eddie:</b> Richie’s going to murder me. </p><p>I was about to text him, to apologize for missing the wedding, but I couldn’t find the words quick enough and now I’ve missed my chance.</p><p>There’s carpet under my hands and knees. I’m alone at the end of a long corridor, with doors on both sides. I try my luck, hoping one of the doors will be unlocked, they all have swipe card entry, so I have no chance of picking my way inside. </p><p>I’m halfway down the corridor when someone slides into my peripheral vision from a couple of doors down. </p><p>‘Eddie. Thank fuck, you’re back.’</p><p>It’s Mike. </p><p>Bill slides out behind him as I cover myself. </p><p>I wonder if I can get away from them if I start running. Mike is fast and they’ve already seen me, so I decide against it, but I have no fucking clue how to explain this to them.</p><p>‘Oh crap.’ Bill rubs his mouth. ‘That’s not our Eddie.’</p><p>‘Yeah, no shit Bill.’ </p><p>I stare at them, almost hyperventilating. They don’t look especially surprised that I’m naked in the middle of a hotel hallway. </p><p>‘Quick, get in here.’ </p><p>Mike hustles me inside a grand hotel room. It’s tidy, except for the clothes strewn all over the floor. I stand against the wall by the door, so I have an escape route if this goes badly. </p><p>Bill starts laughing, pointing at my face. ‘When are you from?’</p><p>I frown, unable to breath. ‘What do you mean, when? I was just, er, sleep walking, I locked myself out of my room.’ </p><p>They look completely unconvinced. </p><p>‘Eddie, this is your room,’ Mike says. ‘We know you time travel.’ </p><p>I catch the vomit in my throat, swallowing, after almost gagging. ‘No?’</p><p>‘Yes, it’s fine. It’s not a big deal.’ </p><p>I take a good look at them, while my brain reboots. They’re both dressed to the nines in smart black suits. </p><p>‘What is this?’ </p><p>‘It’s the wedding.’ </p><p>‘Oh my god.’ My knees give in and I tumble over to the bed in relief, collapsing in a heap. Richie must have told them. He must have caved once he got to Portland, or maybe somebody guessed. Maybe they’ve known for a while and they just haven’t told either of us, it must be why Mike and Bill aren’t freaking out too much.</p><p>‘Thank fuck. I thought I missed it.’</p><p>‘No, Eddie-‘</p><p>‘How long have we got?’</p><p>I look between them, confused at why they aren’t relieved that I made it here despite all the odds. </p><p>‘When are you from?’ Bill asks again.</p><p>‘2020.’</p><p>‘Okay, shit, Richie’s gonna kill us. He’s gonna kill us, Mike.’</p><p>‘Why is Richie gonna kill you? I’m here, lets go, we can fix this.’</p><p>Mike sighs. ‘He thinks this is Bev and Ben’s wedding.’</p><p>‘Whose…? Wait, whose wedding is it?’ </p><p>They both smile, all consolidatory teeth. </p><p>‘Fuck.’ I press my head against my knees, folding myself into a triangle of shame. This is the cruelest twist my body has ever thrown at me. </p><p>Mike hands me a royal blue pair of suit trousers from the floor. </p><p>‘I just disappeared didn’t I?’</p><p>‘Yep.’ </p><p>‘Ugh.’ I close my eyes and concentrate on not vomiting. I need to stay cool, calm and collected, so I don’t fuck this up any further. </p><p>Bill shakes with laughter. </p><p>‘Do not fucking laugh, Bill. I’m not- Can I have the rest of the clothes please, I’m fucking naked here.’</p><p>‘I’m calling Bev,’ Mike says to Bill, as if I’m not in the room.</p><p>‘Why are you calling Bev?’ I question. ‘Is she with Richie? Is Richie okay? Is he nervous?’</p><p>‘Yes, Eddie. He’s a mess.’ Bill straightens out the collar of my shirt. ‘And he doesn’t even know about this yet.’</p><p>He hands me a comb that I run quickly through my hair. The suit fits me perfectly, so I can’t have come much into the future, not far enough to have become loose around the middle, anyway. </p><p>‘What’s the date?’ I ask, double checking how I look in the mirror.</p><p>‘September 18th 2027.’</p><p>‘That’s- We’re just getting married now? What takes so long?’</p><p>Bill shoves me. ‘I dunno. You’re both twice as dumb when you’re together, that probably had something to do with it.’</p><p>Mike holds the phone to his chest, covering the speaker. ‘Bev’s asking what you want to do, Eddie.’</p><p>I look back at the mirror, at myself, wearing my future. </p><p>‘I wanna talk to Richie.’ Mike hands me the phone. ‘In person.’</p><p>He nods, relaying the message and hanging up. </p><p>He looks me over, smiling like a proud parent might. ‘You look great, Eddie.’ He fixes my tie and then we’re leaving. </p><p>‘Bev made the suit?’ I ask, as we walk. </p><p>‘Yeah. She made Richie’s too.’</p><p>We walk back down the corridor and through a glass door at the back of the hotel foyer. </p><p>‘How exactly is this happening?’ I fall over my feet to walk sideways so I can look at them. ‘Are we going to a church? What’s the aisle situation?’</p><p>‘Eddie.’ Bill slaps my chest. ‘Calm the fuck down, you’re gonna disappear before you talk to Richie at this rate.’</p><p>‘You know about that?’ </p><p>‘Yes, we’ve all seen it happen when you’re stressed.’</p><p>‘Oh.’</p><p>‘You’re getting married by a lake,’ Mike tells me. ‘It’s in the grounds of the hotel so we’re walking there. There’s gonna be an aisle that you and Richie walk down together, with the Losers behind you, so we get the best view if you trip and fall face first into the lake.’</p><p>‘Okay. I can do that.’ I say, ignoring the dig. A terrifying thought stops me in my tracks. ‘Are we doing our own vows?’</p><p>‘I think so,’ Bill replies.</p><p>‘I don’t have any, I haven’t written anything. Bill, you need to write me something.’</p><p>Bill crouches down, laughing and dodging my foot as I try and kick him.</p><p>‘Check your pockets, maybe you wrote something,’ Mike suggests. </p><p>My hands are shaking, but I find the sheet of paper in my breast pocket. </p><p>‘Holy shit,’ I breathe out, relieved beyond belief. </p><p>I open it and want to scream. </p><p>
  <em> Hey Eddie, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You adlib the vows and it is awesome! Knock um dead ;) </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Eddie </em>
</p><p>‘Fuck you. Fuck you fuck you.’ I grind my teeth together.</p><p>Bill reads over my shoulder. ‘I can’t believe you wrote a winky face. You’re such an asshole, Eddie.’</p><p>‘I fucking hate myself right now. What the fuck.’</p><p>‘Eddie, I don’t think the guests can hear you, but they can definitely see you.’ </p><p>I follow Mike’s gaze, down from the top of the verge we’re standing on and into the grassy plain in front of the lake. </p><p>There’s a simple altar, with a few rows of chairs laid out on either side, and a gazebo, with  seating and a stage off the side. It’s simple but beautiful. </p><p>Richie’s stood at the back of the chairs with Stan, staring at me. I can’t see his expression, but his head is tilted to the side, fondly.</p><p>I feel like there's a rope between us, tugging us both gently forward, like the soft ebb of the waves on the lake. I follow my feet and he does the same, meeting me halfway. I rock into his personal space, unsure if he’ll want to hug me, not the version of myself he was expecting. </p><p>He wraps his arms around me and I breathe him in. </p><p>‘Hey you,’ he whispers, next to my ear. </p><p>‘I’m sorry.’ </p><p>‘No? What?’</p><p>‘For leaving you, back then and now. I’m just a massive fuck up.’ </p><p>‘Where are you meant to be?’</p><p>‘The wedding. The other wedding.’</p><p>Richie pulls back, his mouth a soft, amused circle. ‘The het wedding?’ </p><p>‘Don’t call it that.’ </p><p>‘Oh wow, that is beautiful. That fucking brain of yours.’</p><p>I step back and Richie chases me, not letting me leave his arms. </p><p>‘You didn’t know I came here?’</p><p>‘Nope.’</p><p>He smiles, bright and easy, a different man to the one I’m letting down spectacularly in 2020.</p><p>‘You’re not mad when I go back?’ </p><p>Richie sobers, rubbing my shoulders. ‘Yeah, a little bit.’</p><p>‘You talk to me again?’</p><p>‘You bet, we fix all of that. Look at where we are.’ </p><p>‘Bill and Mike said this is our wedding.’</p><p>‘Uh huh.’ </p><p>‘What takes us so long?’</p><p>Richie frowns. </p><p>‘To get married.’</p><p>He shrugs. ‘We’re stupid.’ </p><p>I tuck my hands underneath his jacket, so I can feel up the small of his back. The dark grey suit he’s wearing makes his shoulders look wider than normal and I like it a lot.</p><p>‘Oh, okay,’ he says, low and sexy. ‘I’m making excuses and we’re getting out of here, yeah?’</p><p>‘We’re not getting married?’</p><p>‘Eds, you just disappeared, gotta wait for you to come back first.’</p><p>‘No, I’m here. I’m ready.’</p><p>‘Eddie-‘</p><p>‘I’m not letting you down again.’</p><p>‘You’re not- This isn’t letting me down.’ Richie scoops my head between his hands, tilting my chin so I’ll look at him. ‘I’m so happy you’re here. I wish you’d told me about this, but I’m glad you get to see this.’ </p><p>I look at the sea of mostly unfamiliar faces behind him, our friends and family, who are all here to share this with us. </p><p>I swallow, noticing Richie’s parents in the front row. </p><p>‘Your parents know I time travel?’</p><p>‘Yeah. Everyone knows.’</p><p>‘And it’s okay?’</p><p>‘Yeah, it’s all gonna be okay.’</p><p>I try to consolidate everyone’s enthusiasm with the dread I feel about crossing that line. Even seeing it first hand, it still feels insurmountable. </p><p>‘Oh my god.’ I freeze when Went turns in his seat and I see the small wiggly person he’s holding. ‘Who is that baby with your Dad?’</p><p>Richie shakes, his obscene, infectious giggle loud in my ear. </p><p>‘Rich!’</p><p>‘Would you like to meet her? Our…’ he wiggles his eyebrows, as I clutch his jacket. ‘Niece.’</p><p>‘Fuck you. Jesus. Who had a baby?’</p><p>‘Who do you think? The old Marsh Hanscom unit. Oh shit, you’re gonna know about this before Bev’s pregnant. Oh. Shit.’</p><p>Stan interrupts us, waving from the top of the aisle, shrugging his arms to ask what we’re doing. </p><p>I take Richie’s hand and lead him back towards the chairs. </p><p>‘Eds, are you sure?’ </p><p>‘Yes, but you’re not. You don’t wanna marry me, you want to marry him, I’m not him yet.’</p><p>‘No-‘</p><p>‘I can go.’</p><p>‘Eddie, the last thing I want is for you to go. I always wanted to marry you.’</p><p>‘I don’t even know who you are yet, but I wanna marry you back.’ </p><p>Richie recalculates the past seven years, slotting this new information alongside the old. I’ve seen him do this in a clearing as a teenager, recalibrate when something hinted at becomes clear.  </p><p>We run the last couple of steps to the bottom of the aisle, where the other Losers are waiting. There’s a dog stood next to Mike, whining and padding on the spot, that I stare daggers at. </p><p>‘Whose fucking dog is that? At a wedding?’</p><p>The Losers all make a disapproving noise. </p><p>‘That’s our dog Nova,’ Richie scolds. ‘She’s the light of your life and <em> you </em> insisted she was here.’</p><p>‘Oh.’ I pat her head in apology and she licks my hand, tail swishing fast through the air behind her. </p><p>‘What are we doing here?’ Bev asks, highly amused by the drama. </p><p>‘We’re getting married,’ I reply. </p><p>‘Great, get down the aisle then.’ Bev shoves me into position. ‘Ruby hasn’t cried for thirty minutes, so our window is closing.’ </p><p>‘Whose Ruby?’</p><p>Bev covers her mouth in shock, looking to Richie for help. </p><p>‘Yeah, he’s gonna go back and know,’ Richie says, already over the shock of the revelation. ‘He already saw her.’</p><p>Mike hands me the dog lead, patting her and standing behind us. </p><p>Nova sits by my feet, panting softly. She’s got a couple of soft, white flowers tucked into her collar, blending into the colour of her fur. I have to admit, she’s the most beautiful dog I think I’ve ever seen, but I’m not sure if I’m biased because I know she’s going to be mine. </p><p>Richie slings his arm around me and we walk. </p><p>It’s an anticlimactic thirty seconds, past the four rows of chairs to get to the top of the aisle. There’s no music, just the quiet murmur of voices as we pass. No-one seems put out by me being here, like the switch of Eddie’s is something everyone but me is well versed in.</p><p>Stan smiles when we reach the top of the aisle and it clicks why he’s standing there and not following behind us.</p><p>‘No way.’ I giggle, slapping Richie’s chest. ‘Stan’s marrying us?’</p><p>Stan’s face falls into a well worn frown. ‘Can’t either of you do one thing normally? Eddie, you insisted I do this. I got ordained for this.’</p><p>Richie holds me up as the laughter takes over. </p><p>‘This is normal for us.’ I gasp, trying to get hold of myself. </p><p>Richie’s laughing too, the noise so high pitched I almost can’t hear it.</p><p>‘Okay, we’re doing this quickly,’ Stan sighs. ‘I can’t deal with either of you anymore.’</p><p>‘When we do vows, I’m going first,’ I say, turning to face Richie. </p><p>‘Okay?’ Stan asks slowly, checking in with Richie, who smiles. </p><p>He takes my hand, linking our little fingers together. His tongue sticks to the side of his cheek, making it bulge, so I know he’s thinking about kissing me. </p><p>I slowly tune out Stan as he speaks, solidifying what I want to say, what I should be saying to him in the present, what I should have said to him all along. </p><p>Richie shakes my hand, bringing my attention back.</p><p>‘Did you want to say something, Eddie?’ Stan laughs, fond and exasperated.</p><p>‘Yes. Erm, I didn’t write anything. Didn’t know I would be here,’ I say, more to the group than to Richie. </p><p>I wait, while the laughter abates. </p><p>‘You don’t need to say anything.’ Richie smiles, misreading the pause. ‘We weren’t actu-‘</p><p>‘I want to, wait your turn.’ I smile, centering myself before I continue.</p><p>I look at Richie, where he’s waiting patiently, blinking softly, waiting for me to speak. ‘We always seem to do things in the wrong order.’ He laughs, and it breaks the tension beautifully. ‘I was so far behind you on where our friendship was going, but you knew what this was since you were thirteen, it just took me a while to catch up, I’m still catching up to you sometimes. I don’t know if you were ready for this seven years ago, but I know I’m ready. I’m ready to change and be the person you thought you were marrying today, and I’m ready to listen to you, because you’re right, you were always right about us and you’re right about all the things I need to change. I’m so ready to do this with you.’</p><p>Richie nods, softly, his lips pursed to stop himself from crying. ‘I can’t wait to kiss you in a minute.’ </p><p>We lean towards each other, laughing, as our friends erupt behind us. </p><p>Stan holds his finger up, stopping our slow creep towards each other. ‘Are you saying something Rich?’ </p><p>‘Yeah I’m fucking saying something, gimmie a minute.’ </p><p>Maggie stands, trying to straighten Richie out. He squirms, but lets her wipe his face and straighten his bow tie. </p><p>‘Okay, yep, I got this. It won’t be long cause I know you are all dying to hear my Dads speech.’ </p><p>‘And eat!’ Bill shouts.</p><p>‘Shut up, Bill.’ I extend my arm out to slap him, catching Ben on the ear instead. Bev leans in, defending him by flicking my cheek. </p><p>‘Hey, hey hey.’ Stan stares us all down and we settle. </p><p>‘I used to ask Eddie,’ Richie starts, laughing and correcting himself. ‘I used to ask you, Eds, when you visited me when I was a teenager, if it was worth the wait for us to be together. And back then I thought it was a couple of years, maybe three years that we’d be separated, I had no idea it would be twenty five years.’ Richie waits, a dramatic pause for the people in the crowd who haven’t heard this story before. He links our fingers together properly before continuing. ‘Sometimes you were hesitant when you replied, sometimes not, but you always said the same thing, that it was worth the wait. And you were right, it’s not just me that’s right about things.’ He giggles, crying again. ‘I still spend a lot of time waiting for you, and I want you to know, it is always, always worth it.’</p><p>I hold Richie’s eye, unable to look away, as Stan whirls through the rest of his script. I couldn’t give a shit what he’s saying, it’s the unimportant words written by someone else. But I cling to Richie’s words, the most perfect thing he could have told me, to give me to take back to the present, where I’m really going to need it. </p><p>Then Stan says the magic word, that we can kiss, and Richie’s on top of me, dipping me softly and laughing against my mouth. I don’t care that the kiss is messy, because Richie’s happy. He’s happy because of me, because we did this together. </p><p>He holds me close as our friends and family clap and cover us in pastel coloured pieces of tissue. </p><p>‘Did I pass?’ He whispers.</p><p>‘Yes. Thank you.’ </p><p>‘I loved what you said. Don’t forget this feeling when you go back. Every things gonna be okay, yeah? I never stopped loving you, Eds.’</p><p>‘Okay.’ I hold his face in my hands. ‘There’s nowhere else I’d want to be right now.’</p><p>*<br/>
<br/>
<b>Richie: </b>Eddie’s pressed up against my side, quiet as a mouse. </p><p>He’s thinking through all the new things he’s learnt about his future. Our future. </p><p>I want to join everyone as they mingle, post speeches and food as we wait for the music to start, but I don’t want to leave Eddie. </p><p>It’s a minefield of information out there, so easy for someone to let the wrong piece of information slip. Everyone’s been briefed, under no circumstances to bring up Eddie’s arm, but I’ve seen a couple of lingering glances and I just don’t want to risk it. </p><p>Eddie’s absentmindedly stroking Nova’s head, where it’s resting on his knee, completely smitten with her. </p><p>I should have known he’d already been here. He was so specific about some of the details. I can’t believe I didn’t twig when he’d insisted Stan marry us, I’d just found it too hilarious an idea to question. </p><p>I rub his shoulder, amazed at what we just did. That Eddie wanted this the whole time, that he’s going to go back to me, my husband.</p><p>He noses under my chin, kissing me and sighing. ‘I don’t want to go back. Can’t I stay here where things are good and I’ve done all the hard stuff?’</p><p>‘The hard stuff is what got us here.’</p><p>‘Ugh, I really don’t want to.’ </p><p>‘You don’t wanna miss the last seven years, there’s so much good stuff. I’m a little bit jealous, actually.’ </p><p>‘Like what?’</p><p>‘Like this, the lead up to the wedding. Getting Nova. All of the stuff with the support group.’</p><p>‘Tell me something I don’t know.’ </p><p>‘Today hasn’t been enough of a preview?’</p><p>‘I don’t even know how we get engaged.’ </p><p>‘Oh, it’s great. I’m not gonna spoil it for you, but, I ask you.’ I laugh at the frustration on Eddie’s face. ‘Whatever happens, you gotta let me ask. Don’t you dare fucking ask.’ </p><p>‘God, I bet you make a mess of it.’</p><p>‘No. It’s perfect. It’s really- Yeah.’ </p><p>Eddie's face morphs into calm resolve. He trusts me, but is impatient to find out for himself. </p><p>‘Like today.’ I nudge him. ‘Perfect.’ </p><p>‘You’re just saying that.’</p><p>‘It’s not how I thought the day would go, but I probably should have known. We never do things the usual way.’ </p><p>‘You came to the right man for all your extrachonological needs.’</p><p>‘Oh, I picked the right man alright.’</p><p>‘Did I show you this?’ Eddie pulls a piece of paper out of his jacket pocket and I stop breathing, thinking he’s got hold of one of the letters. </p><p>He shakes it open and I can see it’s something different. I smile, trying to cover my tracks as he hands it over.</p><p>‘Oh my fuck, are you serious?’ I scream. ‘You fucking asshole!’</p><p>‘Right? What the fuck!?’</p><p>‘You know that we agreed not to do vows?’</p><p>Eddie seethes. ‘What?’</p><p>‘We-’ I laugh. ‘We thought that anyone who’d been in a room with us for five minutes would know everything we could possibly say to each other, so fuck it, no vows.’</p><p>‘I freaked out, Richie. I asked Bill to write me something.’</p><p>‘That I would have love to hear.’</p><p>‘I was sweating.’</p><p>‘You fucked with both of us. I didn’t prepare anything either.’</p><p>‘You made yours up?’</p><p>‘Yeah!’</p><p>‘Fuck.’</p><p>‘Our plan was better, the vows were good.’</p><p>‘They were great.’</p><p>Eddie giggles through the kiss I lay on him. It’s novel for me to kiss him with a clean shave, he never picked the routine back up after losing his arm, so I’m making the most of it. </p><p>My hands have made their way to his jaw, when the music starts. </p><p>Eddie jolts back, staring at me in disbelief. ‘No. No way.’</p><p>He digs his shoes into the grass as I pull him up. ‘First dance!’</p><p>‘No fucking way, Richie!’</p><p>‘You picked it!’</p><p>‘I did not!’</p><p>‘You did!’</p><p>I raise my eyebrow, giving him a second of warning before scooping him up in my arms and carrying him towards the circle our friends and family have made on the grass.</p><p>Eddie shouts, half heartedly trying to get out of my grip, until I prop him up in the middle of our chanting friends. </p><p>‘I’m not dancing.’ </p><p>‘Fine, I’ll dance with Stan.’</p><p>‘No!’ Stan shouts, ducking behind Ben to hide. </p><p>Nova jumps at me, excited by the music and the movement, so I grab her paws, swaying her with me. </p><p>Everyone is singing, building up to the chorus, while Eddie fights with himself. </p><p>I let Nova go and lunge for him, singing in his ear and holding him tight against me. </p><p>
  <em> ‘Hold me closer, tiny dancer-‘ </em>
</p><p>‘I hate you.’ </p><p>I laugh at the genuine malice in his voice. ‘Hate yourself, you picked this.’</p><p>Eddie squirms away, giggling. ‘I would never!’ </p><p>I point. ‘Do the air piano!’ </p><p>‘No!’</p><p><em> ‘You married a music man!’ </em> I shout, pointing at him.</p><p>‘That makes no sense.’</p><p>He shuffles on the spot, as I circle him, ready to pull him in when his arm extends to wrap around me, won over by the moment, like he always is. He leans up to kiss me, but stops himself, half on his tip toes and frowning, as he disappears. </p><p>Everyone stops moving. His jacket dangles from my fingers for a moment until I drop it to the ground. </p><p>‘Stan, you’re up,’ I say, trying to mask my disappointment. </p><p>‘Don’t even think about it!’ Eddie shouts, bursting naked into the circle. </p><p>He runs straight for the clothes, hopping around, trying to cover himself and pull on clothing in a way only he could master. </p><p>I pretend to help, hugging him breathless. </p><p>‘You’re not helping, Rich,’ he giggles.</p><p>‘You’re timing is impeccable.’</p><p>‘I’ve been hiding up there for ages. Fucking uptight prick wouldn’t leave.’ </p><p>‘Excuse me, I love that uptight prick.’ </p><p>Eddie looks up, trousers on but shirt unbuttoned. I finish it off for him while he strokes my cheek. ‘I know. I’m so sorry I left.’</p><p>‘Did you just forget you gaped it? You didn’t say <em> anything. </em>’</p><p>‘You didn’t know. Rich, you didn’t suspect anything. I’m sorry.’</p><p>‘You’ve been married to me all this time?’</p><p>Eddie looks unsure of responding, like I might be angry if he confirms it. </p><p>‘Yeah.’</p><p>I wish we’d done this together and he’d told me when he’d gone back, but that’s not how this works. If we hadn't waited, we wouldn’t have had this day.</p><p>‘You were telling the truth on Sept 3rd.’</p><p>‘I was always telling the truth.’ </p><p>I kiss him, soft and slow, confirming we’re good. Everything’s good. </p><p>‘Are we dancing or what?’ Bev shouts. </p><p>Eddie pulls back, taking my mouth on a sideways journey with him. </p><p>‘Put Elton back on, I wanna dance to my song,’ he says, smiling. </p><p>I try to pull him aside, embarrassed that I forgot we were in such a public place while we were talking, but he’s too busy singing and tugging me around the circle, hugging all the people he loves and has missed today. </p><p>Jacob gives him the biggest hug. He’d given the speech from Eddie’s side of the family, that I’d helped him write and rehearse. He’d spoken about how much Eddie has helped him, implying that Eddie was the brother he’d never had, without saying the actual words. He’d nearly backed out from speaking, too nervous to give the speech in front of an Eddie who’d never met him before, but I’d talked him around. </p><p>‘You didn’t hear my speech,’ he says to Eddie, disappointment thick in his voice. </p><p>‘I did, it was just a long time ago for me.’</p><p>‘Right, of course.’</p><p>‘I’m so glad you spoke for me, for my side of the family.’</p><p>‘Yeah?’</p><p>I wink at him over Eddie’s shoulder. ‘You made all our friends cry.’</p><p>Eddie grins. ‘I knew I could count on you, Jake. What you said had such a big impact on me, before I’d even met you properly.’ </p><p>Eddie and Jacob smile at each other, both overwhelmed. </p><p>The circle disbands as the song ends, and I take my opening to make an excuse and get Eddie all to myself. </p><p>‘Do you think they heard all of that, before?’ </p><p>Eddie shrugs. ‘The music’s pretty loud.’ </p><p>‘What else are you hiding?’ I ask, only half serious. ‘Would be a great time to tell me, now that we’re both married and everything.’</p><p>Eddie wraps his hands around my neck. ‘Nothing. We’re all caught up.’</p><p>‘Yeah?’</p><p>‘Pretty much, just little things, you know. I’m sure there’s some stuff you’re not telling me.’</p><p>I think about the dogs and smile, swaying him to the music. </p><p>My hands are on his hips, trying to work their way into the waistband of his trousers so I can feel him up. I’m pretty sure he’s not wearing underwear, but I want to confirm so I can plan accordingly when we get back to the hotel room. Eddie’s agenda may have been to make our friends cry, but mine is to peel him very slowly out of the suit he’s only half still wearing. </p><p>I look out across the grass, trying to find his suit jacket, so I can put it back on him, when I notice the music. The playlist was the only thing I organized and I didn’t put this song on the list. </p><p>‘Did you change the music?’</p><p>‘Don’t be mad.’</p><p>‘Eds, it’s the only thing I did.’</p><p>‘You picked your suit.’ </p><p>‘Come on.’</p><p>He laughs, holding his palms up in defeat. ‘They’re all songs you played for me on your show, all the ones I liked. It’s our playlist. We can switch it back?’</p><p>I pout, partly annoyed to finish the argument I was starting to enjoy and partly annoyed that Eddie did another perfect fucking thing. </p><p>‘I’ll tell them to change it.’</p><p>I grab his hand, tugging him back to me. ‘No way. This is the strawberry fucking sauce, Eds.’</p><p>He blinks, feigning shyness. ‘Knew you’d like it.’</p><p>I kiss his neck and groan. ‘I had all the Eddie name replacement songs at the end. I was gonna start a drunk sing along before everyone leaves. You can’t deprive my Dad the chance to sing ‘Eddie Lane.’</p><p>Eddie tuts. ‘They’re still on there. No-ones missing out on Eddie fucking Lane.’</p><p>‘What about Rio? <em> His name is Eddie and he dances on the sand.’  </em></p><p>I spin him around as I sing, his back to my chest, so I can wrap my arms around his waist and we can both watch the party. </p><p>‘Yes, that’s still on there.’</p><p>I go back to kissing his neck. ‘You ready for another thirty-five years of this?’</p><p>‘It won’t all be like this.’</p><p>‘Why?’</p><p>‘Cause life isn’t like that.’</p><p>‘So, that’s a no then?’</p><p>Eddie turns, bumping our noses together. ‘It’s a fucking big yes.’ He slaps my cheek and turns back to the party. ‘I’m ready.’</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>Thursday 8th February 2063 (Richie is 86, Eddie is 62)</p><p><b>Eddie:</b> I look around the garden slowly. </p><p>It looks completely different to the present. The grass and hedges are overgrown, the green paint we used on the bird feeder last year is almost completely gone, flaked off with age. My clothes box is still in the shed, with slacks and a few shirts inside, with an old pair of running shoes and three pairs of glasses in different increments of strength. Even the weakest ones are too strong for me, but I pocket them just in case. </p><p>I walk up to the house and peer through the glass. It’s packed with flowers, some of the bunches huge and all of them fresh. No dogs come running up to greet me and I know what this is before I step inside. </p><p>The house is quiet but I’m not alone. </p><p>I check the date on the fridge, confirming what I thought. I’m here to say goodbye. </p><p>There are pictures all over the walls of dogs I haven’t met yet, alongside dogs I know and love. There’s a photo of us from our wedding with Nova on the wall above the dining table. It was taken late in the evening, after I’d come back to the present. Records of a life together that I’m only half way through, but that’s coming to an end here. </p><p>I was just making lunch with Richie, flicking bits of cucumber at the back of his head to discourage his terrible singing. I’m so unprepared for this. I want to walk straight out of the house again, but I could never do that to him. </p><p>Richie sits up in bed when I walk in. I close the door for privacy, even though I know we’re alone. </p><p>‘Hey.’ </p><p>He smiles, devastated from pain and I nearly give in to the impulse to slide down the door and let go. </p><p>He’s very old, hair completely white, but still mostly there despite all my ribbing. I step closer when he curls his hand towards me. His skin is papery soft and wrinkled all over, the sign of a life well lived. </p><p>I crouch down next to the bed. ‘Are you okay?’</p><p>‘No,’ Richie replies, his voice crunchy from disuse. </p><p>I smooth back the hair from his forehead. ‘Are you in pain?’</p><p>‘I don’t want anything while you’re here.’</p><p>I nod. ‘Okay. Can I kiss you?’</p><p>Richie smiles, amused this time. ‘When do I not want to kiss you?’</p><p>I lean in, his mouth just as soft as his skin. ‘I don’t know where you’re hurting, do I.’</p><p>‘Get in the bed.’</p><p>‘Yeah?’ I flick off my shoes and slide in, curling around him. </p><p>‘Don’t lie on your bad side,’ he scolds. </p><p>‘Want to touch you.’ I wrap my arm around his chest. ‘Did you find me in the morning?’</p><p>‘Yes. It was awful.’</p><p>I rub his chest, which is moving slowly, heartbeat barely there. ‘I’m so sorry.’</p><p>‘You knew you’d go like that?’</p><p>‘Yeah.’</p><p>Richie sniffs. ‘You told me the wrong date’</p><p>I prop my head up so we can look at each other properly. This feels easier somehow, now that we’re talking.</p><p>‘You told me it happens in May,’ Richie continues. </p><p>‘I always meant to tell you the date,’ I reply, confused. ‘What happened that day?’</p><p>‘Nothing. It was normal, except you fell asleep holding my hand. You don’t often do that, cause it gets in the way of your sleep if we’re touching.’</p><p>I double check the bedroom, amazed there’s still only one bed for both of us.  </p><p>‘Maybe I didn’t want it to feel like a countdown. We wouldn’t have had a normal day if you’d know.’</p><p>‘Maybe. I didn’t- I would have said things if I’d known.’</p><p>‘Like what?’</p><p>‘Doesn’t matter.’</p><p>‘No, like what? I’m here now, I’m here to be with you. Rich, you can tell me anything.’</p><p>‘Do I go in my sleep too?’ He deflects.</p><p>‘Yeah.’ I nod, tears starting to well in my eyes. ‘Real peaceful.’</p><p>‘Are you going to stay?’</p><p>I close my eyes, wishing I knew the answer. Both options are terrible in some way. Either I leave Richie to die on his own or I have to be here when it happens. I <em> need </em> to be here when it happens. </p><p>‘I’m gonna stay. I want to be with you.’</p><p>‘I’m ready. I don’t want to be here without you anymore.’</p><p>I kiss him again. ‘I know.’</p><p>‘You still think I’m handsome.’</p><p>‘Yeah, you’ve still got all your hair. Unbelievable.’</p><p>‘I can’t believe you didn’t bleach it off my head when we hit eighty.’</p><p>‘Don’t give me ideas.’</p><p>‘Are you going to be okay when you go back? If you’re staying.’</p><p>Even when it comes down to the very last moments of his life, Richie’s still worrying about me. </p><p>‘I’ll be fine. Did I tell you where I’d been?’</p><p>‘No. I had no idea until I read your letter.’</p><p>‘Letter?’</p><p>‘You left it for me to read once you’d gone. You wrote about this visit, I knew you were coming.’</p><p>‘Okay. I’ll remember to write it.’</p><p>‘Could barely read your handwriting, it’s all fucked up and wobbly.’</p><p>I roll my eyes, knowing that’s got nothing to do with age. ‘Did you write my obituary?’</p><p>‘Yeah. We wrote them together last year. I edited yours though.’ Richie laughs, then coughs, knocking me off his chest. </p><p>I sit him up and pass him the water on the dresser. </p><p>‘Tell me something good about the future,’ I say, once I’m wrapped around him again, listening to his heart against my ear, slow and not so steady. </p><p>‘Every day you spent with me, it was a blessing. That’s what I would have said, if I’d have known. You’ve made me so happy.’</p><p>He’s on the verge of tears and I know I have to say something to put this right, so he doesn’t regret that last day we spent together.</p><p>‘Rich. I know that. I always know that. You show me all the time.’</p><p>‘You’re sure you would have known?’</p><p>‘Fell asleep holding your hand, didn’t I?’</p><p>Richie goes quiet and I try to fight the panic I feel. I don’t want him to notice, I want this to be as peaceful and pain free as possible, because I know the last three days have been the opposite. </p><p>I’ve lost track of time and the amount of tears that have rolled down my face and soaked into his t-shirt when he speaks. </p><p>‘I’m tired, Eds.’</p><p>‘You can sleep, don’t try and fight it. I’m here.’ I stroke his chest and look up at his face. His eyes are closed, eyelashes fluttering against his cheek. ‘I love you.’</p><p>His hand flexes on the bed, brushing my elbow. I take it in mine and lace our fingers together and hope that he lets go. </p><p>‘I love you,’ I repeat, wanting it to be the last thing he hears.  </p><p>It’s quiet again. </p><p>I don’t know how long I’ve been here, but my stomach and bladder are telling me it’s hours. I’m terrified of moving in case it disturbs him or in case it doesn’t. It’s quiet against the ear that’s pressed to his chest. His fingers, still held in mine, feel cold. I don’t want to admit it, but I know what this means. </p><p>‘Richie?’ I whisper. </p><p>I try again, louder this time. A bird outside the window answers me, signaling the start of a new day. </p><p>I close my eyes, not wanting to ask again, but unable to stop myself.</p><p>‘Richie?’ My voice cracks in my throat. </p><p>‘Yeah?’ He answers. </p><p><br/>
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</p><p>Saturday 25th June 2039 (Richie is 63, Eddie is 62)</p><p><b>Eddie:</b> My eyes fly open. </p><p>Richie’s staring at me from the bedroom doorway, one of our dogs sitting across his hip like a baby. It would be funny if I wasn’t completely ruined by what just happened. The dog barks, scrambling down to get to me, but I can’t control the sob that leaves my body and it terrifies her away. </p><p>‘Eddie?’ Richie helps me sit up, holding my face still as my body hitches through the grief. ‘Are you okay? What the hell happened?’</p><p>‘I was saying goodbye. I have to go back. I need-’</p><p>I clutch his shirt, crying into his neck. </p><p>‘Who are you talking about?’</p><p>I try to push him away, before he guesses something that ruins us both, but he clings to me. </p><p>‘Are you talking about your Dad?’ Richie asks, desperately trying to comfort me. ‘You went to his funeral, or the hospital?’</p><p>I stop crying for a moment, shocked at the perfect explanation that Richie’s handed me. I nod and he rocks me forward, rubbing my back. </p><p>My head is pounding when I calm down enough to speak. Richie’s still with me, stroking my hair and trying to get me to sip water. </p><p>‘What happened?’ He asks, impossibly soft. </p><p>I look at his face. He’s old, but young compared to the man I’ve spent the last few hours with. I know exactly how this ends, with tears and pain for us both, but I want this regardless. I know where the path leads and I choose to walk it with him. </p><p>‘I got to say goodbye, properly this time.’</p><p>‘That must have been hard. Especially getting dropped there out of the blue.’</p><p>‘I had to do it. For him.’</p><p>Richie winks, a sad little half flutter, as he takes my hand. I watch our hands mirror the future and resist the urge to break down again. </p><p>‘Your Dad would have been so pleased to know you were there.’</p><p>I nod, not trusting myself to speak. </p><p>‘I know it hurts, but it’s important to say goodbye. I’m glad that you got that.’</p><p>‘Me too. My Mom couldn’t stop me this time.’</p><p>‘She could never stop you from doing anything. You’re fucking unstoppable.’</p><p>I risk a smile, that Richie kisses off my face. I hold his chin and press all of the love I can gather into him. He swoons against me, feeling it and sending it back to me. A feedback loop I could get stuck in forever. </p><p>He blinks, pulling back to kiss my nose. ‘Love you. What do you need now? Food? Tea? Bath? Shag?’</p><p>I giggle at the irresistible list Richie’s given me. ‘I need some air.’</p><p>‘Dog walk?’</p><p>‘Yeah.’ </p><p>I meet him in the kitchen after I’m dressed, eating three bananas while he finishes the walk prep. We take supplies for the dog park, which means one of us is carrying the small fluffy one, who has enough energy to run around on the grass, but not enough to walk there and back.</p><p>I go back to the bedroom for my arm, which Richie helps me put on, so I can carry her. She comes to me easy, licking my chin in a wiggly mess. </p><p>Richie squeezes my neck at the door, the other two dogs by his feet on their leads. </p><p>‘I packed some lunch leftovers for a little picnic.’</p><p>‘Great.’ I smile, hoping my face isn’t too red to be seen in public. </p><p>‘Ready?’</p><p>I nod, closing the front door behind us. ‘I’m ready.’</p><p><br/>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Warnings: vomiting (almost!), character death from old age - referenced (Eddie), character death from old age - in story (Richie), acute grief</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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